


Into the Hornet's Nest

by GhostRacha



Series: Love and Paint [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Complete, Cute Han Jisung | Han, Developing Friendships, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Felix are Best Friends, Han Jisung | Han is Whipped, Han Jisung | Han is a Sweetheart, Hospitalization, Humor, Hurts So Good, I swear, I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Inspired by Music, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, Light Angst, M/M, Medium Length, Mentioned Hwang Hyunjin, Mentioned Lee Felix (Stray Kids), Mentioned Seo Changbin, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Plot Twists, Realistic, Shy Han Jisung | Han, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, To Be Continued, Wholesome, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, part 1 of 2, part 2 in the works, really mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24506413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostRacha/pseuds/GhostRacha
Summary: Minho and Han meet when Minho starts fixing up Han's childhood home. They quickly become friends - and maybe more.—————Soundtrack listed - I BEG YOU to really let yourself feel this story by playing it in tandem with the story. I would argue that the soundtrack makes it twice as good. Maybe more.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Hwang Hyunjin & Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: Love and Paint [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772032
Comments: 40
Kudos: 83
Collections: Minsung





	Into the Hornet's Nest

**Author's Note:**

> Cameos by Felix, Hyunjin and Changbin.
> 
> I made this in roughly 15 days, based on a meme prompt for the dialogue in the beginning. This was the outcome.  
> Please check out the playlist and Pinterest board!!  
> ㅡㅡㅡ  
> Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1doLuFCwUwarhQ5Tgs1lr5?si=fYBRbDAtRzuGzDRbEy7t3w
> 
> Pinterest:  
> https://pin.it/pqk7bxA 
> 
> This story is also on Wattpad, but it is on my own personal account. (Also listed @ScarSquad)

Stepping onto the property, Minho smiles. The house is fairly run down, a few boarded up windows staring back at him as he stands on the overgrown lawn. The roof is patchy at best, Minho completely expecting water damage on the inside walls and rusted pipes to become a later hassle. He smiles, however, because this is his now. This dingy, dirty home is his to fix and help thrive. He trudges up to the door, unlocking it carefully in fear of the doorknob falling out of the rotting wood. The sun on his skin is harsh, cicadas humming through the thick air and his hair beginning to stick against his forehead. The new environment is nice, new scenery, a new project, and new weather patterns for him to adjust to.  


Minho does a quick and careful once around the inside of the house, making mental notes on what he should patch up first and which room to start with. He’ll be staying here, so he will need at least one decent room to bide his time in. He knows the walls and rewiring of the house will begin later tomorrow, so he waives those out of his consciousness. When he finds his way into the spacious attic, he frowns at the loud buzzing he hears as soon as he enters. It’s different from the cicadas, a more ominous tone to the harsh wings. Through the light of the few windows, he sees a corner of the attic almost completely overtaken by an obscene hornet’s nest. The gray paper-like lumps are large and span from the corner of a window half way to the high ceilings. Minho feels like he’s going to be sick. He quickly leaves the way he came, trying his best not to break the stairs beneath him in his haste. No way in hell is he going to be able to get rid of that thing alone. He needs to buy something to try and kill them off during however long it takes him to get an exterminator out here. He’s not going to use all of his epi-pens in the first few days, not with the amount of work this place needs. He has money, but not enough to carelessly throw himself into shock repeatedly for the sake of DIY bug removal gone wrong.  


Minho slides himself into his truck, shutting the light blue door quickly and letting the engine roar to life. He immediately turns on the cool air before finding directions on his phone to the nearest convenience store. Five miles, not too bad of a drive. He looks out at the messy lawn again before throwing his truck in reverse, reminding himself to cut the shin-length grass when he is done with his first round of gas-trapping the hell on wings.  


Minho pulls out of the gravel driveway, avoiding the surrounding trees and successfully making his way onto the paved road. He continues to glance at his phone as he drives, making sure he is following the GPS to the best of his ability in the new area. It’s a cute little town, Minho thinks, the small gas stations and occasional farming fields rolling alongside his car. He watches other cars driving past him, enjoying the entirely new faces he may come to know during his stay.  


Soon enough, Minho is parking in the small parking lot of the store, locking his truck twice and making his way into the pint sized shop. He mentally curses his family for giving him black hair, his head hot to the touch as he tries to keep the growing locks out of his eyes. He regrets wearing jeans this tight, squatting down in front of one of the displays. They’re good for avoiding ticks and rusted metal, but the black skin tight material is making him suffer at the moment. At least his t-shirt is light, half tucked into his jeans to let whatever air he can get run over his sweating form. His eyes scan over the array of cans, many brands he recognizes all placed in front of them. He tries to figure out which may be best, not wanting to buy more than one kind should the chemicals not mix well. He’ll be gassing the entire house essentially, so he will have to sleep in his truck. At least he will have a day before the workers come, he doesn’t know what he would do if he accidentally gassed them, too.  
A passing worker catches his eye, walking past him with a look of boredom. The boy looks to be around his age, with dyed silver hair that fades to black toward his scalp. Minho internally praises how it looks in contrast to his honey-toned skin.  


“Excuse me,” Minho calls, the boy stepping backwards to look into Minho’s aisle. He has full cheeks that almost make him seem younger, despite him appearing to be right around Minho’s height. “Do you know which of these are best for wasps?” Minho asks, the boy coming up beside him and leaning over to look at the options. Minho can smell whatever the boy has put on himself, some sort of warm and comforting smell mixed with mint. It must be the temperature controls in here that are keeping the boy from smelling of sweat. Minho is suddenly worried about how he smells, now.  


“None of them,” The boy says, turning his face to Minho. Minho’s eyebrows turn in confusion, a bit of disappointment evident in his face. “They kill wasps, that isn’t good for them.” The boy says, breaking into a wide smile. Minho lets his face scrunch at the joke despite the boy’s apparent happiness at it. The boy points to one of the cans with a chuckle. “This one. Loosen up, man.” He says, standing. “I’ll ring you up.”  


Minho nods, grabbing a few cans and following behind the boy. His estimation was right, the boy falling just short of Minho’s height. Minho notices how tightly tied the boy’s apron is, a surprisingly small waist being revealed by the way his shirt bunches around the string on his back. Minho’s face remains stoic despite his overwhelming urge to untie the string.  


At the counter, the boy says nothing other than his total, Minho paying for the items and glancing at the boy’s name tag. Upon handing the card back, it seems the boy has looked at his name, also. They share a look of knowing, neither one wanting to make it awkward by addressing the other by name. Minho takes his small bag, giving a small nod and a thank you to the happy boy behind the counter. With that, he leaves. 

After raiding the attic and getting out of the house, Minho is bored in his truck. His mind wanders to the convenience store, desperately in need of water and a snack. He had mowed the lawn, spending an hour and a half to tame the overgrowth and pull as many weeds as his knees would let him. Now, he wants nothing more than a shower and some sort of iced tea. So, he is off again in search of a cure for his dry throat and burning skin.  
He parks in the same place as he had before, sighing at having to leave his cool car to be swallowed by the heat again. He moves into the air conditioned store as quickly as his sluggish limbs will let him, the humid day seeming to bog him down with every step. The bell on the door chimes as he enters, a familiar face perking up to see who had come in. Minho is greeted with a smile and a small wave while the boy continues ringing out an order, Minho nodding a hello and making his way to the coolers. After picking out a large drink and a few small bags of snacks to keep in the truck, he makes his way to the front. He stands in line, eyes on his phone as he looks up any places where he could get dinner tonight.  


“Hello again,” the boy says, reaching his hands out to help Minho with his items that are loosely resting on his arm. “Are you new around here?” He asks, quiet beeping as he scans the items filling the small space.  


“I’m fixing up an old house,” Minho says while putting his phone away as not to seem rude. “I need to find a place to stay now that there are wasps everywhere.” He frowns, shuddering at the memory of the attic. The boy gives him a sympathetic smile, telling him his total. While Minho fishes for his wallet, Han writes on a spare bit of receipt paper. They switch items, Minho taking the paper as he hands over his card. On the paper are the names of what he assumes are restaurants and hotels, as well as a phone number on the bottom. Minho smiles genuinely at the kindness, taking his card back as it is handed over. “Is this your number?” He asks, tucking his wallet away. The boy nods with a smile.  


“I’ve lived here all my life, I know my way around if you need help.” He smiles, taking the paper for a moment before returning it with ‘Han Jisung’ written below the phone number. Minho collects his bag, watching as Han unties his apron and rounds the counter to be beside him. “I’m getting off of work right now if you need anything.” Han offers, Minho taking a moment to consider it.  


“I can message you later, closer to dinner time. I have some more work I need to do at the house.” Minho says casually, opening the door for Han and following behind him as they both exit. The bell chimes at them again, Han and Minho falling in line beside each other as they sulk at the heat. Minho and Han walk in the same direction, Minho to his truck and Han to the bike hidden on the side of the building. Minho frowns, knowing that even just walking is taking the wind out of him.  


“Do you live near here?” He asks, gesturing to the bike.  


“About a mile and a half.” Han says, brushing it off as if he weren’t loathing the thought of riding home. Minho looks at him for a while, then to the bike; he lifts it easily and passes a wide eyed Han while he puts it in the bed of his truck as carefully as possible. “Are you offering me a ride?” Han asks, half teasing and half baffled at the gesture. Minho just hums in response, rounding his way to the driver side door and hopping in.  
“If you aren’t getting in, I’m taking your bike.” Minho calls, starting the engine. Han just shakes his head and smiles, climbing into the slowly cooling passenger seat. Minho gives him a smug look, everything able to be read through only his eyes. Han pretends not to notice.

“Han Jisung,” Minho says into the phone. The sun is beginning to set, and he has unfortunately not eaten yet. He managed to get a quick shower without passing out from the fumes still lingering in the house and finish up scheduling workers to come to the house, but eating had almost slipped his mind entirely. Until he saw the folded paper in his wallet with Han’s number on it. “Have you eaten?” He asks, a hum coming through the other end. Han tells him he hasn’t, but he knows a few good places. Minho rolls his eyes at his ability to be so oblivious. “Han Jisung, I am asking if you would like to eat with me.” He hears Han exclaim, making him smile at the thought of the boy being so surprised. Han tells him to pick him up where he had dropped him off before, Minho agreeing and telling him to get ready if he isn’t already. Han laughs at his motherly tone, Minho chiding him and hanging up once Han agrees to get ready and wait outside. MInho is glad to have changed and hopefully be smelling better, this time. 

Han slides into the truck with a smile, Minho admiring their similar outfits. Dark ripped jeans, rings and earrings to spice up a simple outfit. Han’s shirt says something in another language, but it looks cool even if he doesn’t understand what it says. Minho is quiet as he lets Han guide him through the streets, listening at the occasional comment such as ‘this is where I broke my arm,’ or ‘this place used to be a laundromat.’ Listening to the way he happily tells an outsider about all the things most residents would know, such as how the lake they are currently passing is great to swim in and how some of the schools are still in session right now. Han manages to do this without missing a beat, leading the two of them to a cozy diner nestled on the side of the road, Minho looping into the back lot and letting himself out once parked. Han does the same, waiting beside the truck to fall in beside Minho, walking close to him and only stepping ahead to hold the door for him at the entrance. Minho thanks him, opening the following door and following behind him into the small waiting area. He looks around, framed photos along the walls and a chalkboard wall beside the waiting area where people have scrawled their names or drawn cute images. Some have hearts with initials in the middle, others are of smiling silverware or the typical ‘x was here.’ Minho wants to write their names.  


Han ushers him to the board after noticing his interest, handing him a white stick of chalk and taking one for himself. Han finds a decent sized space that’s still untouched, looking long and hard at Minho before putting the chalk on the board. Minho is lost in thought, writing his name and the date below it. When he sets his chalk down and looks to where Han is writing, he’s met with two cartoon faces - one with the initials H.J underneath and one with only an M. Minho smiles at the captured likeness, erasing the M and replacing it with L.M while Han smiles at his creation.  


“Lee Minho,” Minho explains, setting the chalk down just in time for their table to be called. Minho quickly snaps a photo on his phone of the drawing, turning on his heel to follow Han and the older waitress who is seating them. The boys slide into a booth, Han already aware of what he wants to order. The clean and calming atmosphere of the diner pleases Minho, Han clearly used to coming here. Probably with friends, Minho thinks. You are his friend, idiot, he corrects.  


After agreeing to order whatever Han recommends, the boys fall into a comfortable silence across from each other, each of them either sipping their water or glancing over the menu. Minho lets his eyes raise to a concentrated Han, his eyebrows gently furrowed while reading over the options. The yellow light of the diner makes him appear even more honey-like, his hair seeming almost blonde compared to the silver he knows it to be. Minho reads over his features, the small mouth with full lips, the straight button nose and how large his eyes seem to get when he is reacting to something. Minho feels the corner of his mouth twitch, snapping him out of the daze and going back to looking at his own menu. Little does he know, Han is looking over his sharp features. He is admiring how dagger-like his eyes are and his strong cheekbones, watching the way his bottom lip is rolled over by his pink tongue. Han feels himself blush at the sight, diverting his attention to the sweet older woman who has come to take their orders. 

“Tell me about you,” Han suddenly says halfway through their meal, Minho raising an eyebrow with his fork still in his mouth. “You seem to move around a lot.” Han says, sipping his strawberry milkshake. Minho nods, finishing the food in his mouth and gently wiping his face with a napkin.  


“I fix houses for a living. I enjoy it, though.” Minho says simply, noticing that Han expects more out of him by the attentive look on his face. “I love cats, I have three that stay with my mother. Soongi, Doongie, and Dori.” Minho’s face lights up at the mention of his fur babies, Han smiling at the boost in energy. “Uh, I was born in 1998, and I have attended college.” Han squints at Minho.  


“This isn’t a business meeting, loosen up, man.” He says, feeding himself another bite of his meal and not seeing the way Minho smiles at the second time he’s been told that today. “I was born in 2000, by the way. I suppose that makes you my hyung?” Han asks, looking up at Minho with full cheeks. Minho feels a hint of embarrassment, the title implying the two of them are close or that Han looks up to him somehow. Well, Minho supposes, if this isn’t considered close then they will grow to be. So, he nods.  


“Don’t look at me like that,” Minho says, Han looking at him with a soft but smug expression. Han holds up his hands in joking defense, folding his arms onto the table again to continue eating. Minho does the same, glancing at the squirrel-like boy as he also takes another bite. He listens to Han tell him that this diner has been around since he was young, how he often came here for family gatherings or with friends after a particularly stressful week. Minho nods along, enjoying the short stories that are constantly interrupted by another thought. Minho is glad to have met someone who can talk this much, who knows that his silence isn’t inherently disinterested. He sips his chocolate milkshake, only feeling mildly embarrassed when he locks eyes with the younger boy the second his lips wrap around the straw. They don’t comment on it. 

After Minho had paid for the meal despite Han’s insisting that he pay for a hyung, the pair made their way back onto the road with Minho’s phone playing music through the speakers. They listen, happy to have full stomachs and to have someone to share the calming aftermath with. The sky is dark, the stars shining overhead while they slowly drive down the random back roads to kill time. Neither boy admits wanting to draw out the time, Minho telling himself he will bring Han home whenever he asks. Han is waiting for Minho to say he’s tired, so they continue to drive. Neither of them mention that it almost feels like a date, nor do they admit that they each kind of want it to be. Minho pulls into a random rest stop, putting the car in park and turning off the lights while letting the music continue to play. Han looks at him, the boy covering his mouth as he yawns.  


“Thank you for inviting me out.” Han says, making his seat lay back and turning toward Minho. “I mostly work these days, so it’s nice to get out with new people.” He adds, rubbing his eye with his knuckle. Minho hums, locking the doors and laying his own seat back. He turns his head to face Han, faced with a mostly dark silhouette. Han is looking at him, too. They each hide it in the darkness, playing it off as if they each have their eyes closed rather than believe they’re basically just staring at each other while the music fills their silence.  


“Thank you for agreeing to come.” Minho says quietly, smiling under the mask of the night. Han smiles too, Minho can feel it. Minho is glad Han hadn’t assumed he would hurt him or anything, that he was comfortable enough to come out here with a stranger and hopefully enjoy their time together. Minho has enjoyed it - is currently enjoying it - without feeling the need to truly do anything in order to feel content. He secretly hopes Han feels similarly. (He does.) 

Minho is watching the crews work on the house, sitting on the roof of his truck and sipping his large iced tea he got from the fountain of Han’s store. He had expected a bright smile and a small wave when the door chimed, but instead he was met with a grouchy older woman who just glared at him as he bowed politely. He may or may not have texted Han as he filled his cup, asking what he was up to today since last night had been far more enjoyable than Minho had anticipated. He already recognized the sweet vibe of Han, and knew that befriending him seemed like a good thing to do. After last night, though, he already feels much closer to the boy than he wanted to in such a short time. It almost scares him. Almost.  


Minho responds to Han’s offer to hang out within the hour, sipping his tea and typing out that he’s free as soon as Han is. He may or may not add a smiley face at the end of the message. Maybe a heart, but maybe he deletes it before sending the message. He hops down from the roof onto the bed of the truck, careful not to spill his beloved tea and makes his way to the driver side door. He calls out to the crews outside that he will return shortly, a few workers nodding and waving a quaint goodbye for now. Before Han even responds to him, he is already turning out of his driveway and heading in the direction of the store to pick up some snacks for the two of them to share. Minho can’t wait until he can use the fridge and pantry after everything is cleaned up, he wants to have Han come in and let Minho cook for him when he gets off of work. In a platonic way, of course.  
After chucking in random sweets he hopes Han enjoys and some other savory options, he leaves the store with a large bag of food and a vibrating phone.  


“Han Jisung,” Minho hums happily into the phone, sliding into the truck and setting the bag on the passenger side floor. “Are you ready?”  


“I’m ready for you.” Han muses, a sweet innocence dripping through the speaker of Minho’s phone. It makes him want to throw it into the windshield, but he doesn’t. Minho hums in confirmation, wanting to tease the boy for wording it that way but suddenly worrying that he may never speak that way to him again if he does. Minho clicks his seatbelt, telling Han he will be there soon and hanging up as he shifts into gear. He doesn’t want to seem overbearing, but he supposes Han would tell him if he truly wasn't free or willing. He rolls his windows down as he drives, fresh grass making his spirits lift out of the doubt and into the excitement of meeting up with Han. Of Han coming to see his project, of Han just existing with him while they wait for the workers to leave for the day. It’s the small things, really, and he’s glad that Han doesn’t mind that their outings are relatively boring compared to the fun Minho assumes he must have with his other friends. Maybe Han could bring some of them over when the house is done, he thinks, it would be nice to have a small celebration. That’s a bit away, though. Minho frowns at the possibility of Han and him falling out before the house is finished.  


Han is standing by the small mailbox when Minho pulls up this time, leaving the end of the driveway to the white house, hopping in and nearly crushing the snacks. Once he notices them, he lifts the bag into his lap and looks through it. It makes him smile, asking if he can have a bag of gummy bears. Minho nods, muttering that he can have his pick of anything in the bag. Han feels a bit spoiled, but he thanks him anyway, eagerly opening the bag while Minho pulls away from the house.  


“Going to the house?” Han asks, buckling himself in and popping a few gummies into his mouth. Minho can’t help but notice the way Han’s feet are pointed in on themselves, pressing his thighs together to hold the bag of food. Minho returns his gaze to the road and nods while the turn signal clicks at them. Han had noticed him looking at the bag, taking out two gummy bears and pinching them between his pointer finger and thumb. Han leans dramatically into Minho’s side of the cabin, lifting his hand to the boy’s mouth and chuckling as he flinches. Han watches Minho pull his head back enough to process the food he is being offered, glancing at Han who looks at him with an expectant expression. Mid-turn, Minho leans forward again to gently wrap his lips over the food, tilting his head back enough to toss them into his own mouth. Han chuckles at the action, fishing for more gummies. When he sees Minho no longer chewing, he repeats the offer, Minho side eyeing him with a crooked half-smile of amusement. He opens his mouth, Han squeezing the gummies a bit too hard as Minho leans forward, causing them to hit against the back of Minho’s throat. Minho breaks into coughs, his laughter doing nothing to help his breathing. Han is in tears beside him, his head rolled over the side of his seat and his eyes screwed shut with a hand clutching his stomach. The sight only makes Minho laugh harder, his laugh much quieter than Han’s but shaking his shoulders nonetheless. Han begins his apologies through struggling breaths, falling back into laughter before he can even finish saying it. Minho reaches over and gently slaps Han’s chest with the back of his hand as punishment for making him nearly choke. The action only makes Han laugh harder, no sound coming from him at this point. Minho smiles and shakes his head. 

Minho noticed how quiet Han got after that, seeming to know the way and anticipating every turn. Minho didn’t think much of it at the time, considering how long Han has lived in the area. When Han had turned away from him when they turned into the driveway had him concerned, though; the quiet air laced itself with the sadness seeming to radiate off of Han’s abnormally silent demeanor. He watched how Han began to shift in his seat the closer they got to the house, how as soon as he saw it his face seemed to fall even more. Minho wants to ask him about it, now that they are sitting on the roof of the truck. Each of them have one leg hanging over the sides, sitting remarkably close so neither one of them falls off. Han is looking at the house while mindlessly bringing gummies to his lips, chewing slowly while in thought. His eyebrows are furrowed together and Minho watches as he breathes out a sad chuckle.  
“This used to be my house,” Han says, looking down and bringing another sweet to his lips. Minho gives him a sympathetic look, not entirely sure how to comfort him. “I spent most of my life in it. I moved in with my grandparents when I turned fourteen.” Han explains, gesturing to a rotting wood and rope swing on a tree. “I’m shocked that’s still there. I have baby photos of me on that thing.” He chuckles, spirits a bit lifted by reliving the nostalgia running through him.  


“I didn’t mean to upset you…” Minho lingers on the apology, not wanting to dig up any memories Han may want to avoid. Han shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively.  


“I moved out when my parents split up. I’m just sad to see it so broken and empty.” Han pouts, flicking his eyes over to Minho’s face. Minho nods, thinking over the way Han described the house. Maybe he’s using it as a symbol of himself, broken and empty two very human descriptions. Minho pauses, trying to think of a way to respond that tells Han he understands without being too obvious. Maybe he can offer Han the ability to help him fix it, he’d probably want to help restore his former home.  


“Well,” Minho says, looking at Han and gently leaning his shoulder into the shorter boy’s. “I’m here to fix it up, aren’t I?” He says this in a gentle tone, his voice hushed and his eyes locked on Han’s. “Just needs a bit of love. Love and paint.” Minho chuckles, his heart swelling as he watches Han smile at his words.  
Han nods, slowly coming back into his normal self by telling stories about his time at the house. He talks about the infamous wasp problem they always had, how often he has been stung and how being back here makes his skin itch at the thought of it. He talks about the attic and how often he would make blanket forts up there when he was younger and wanted to get away from the stress of growing up or the loud arguments between his parents. Minho loved the way he described the twinkling string lights that used to hang on the ceiling and how his parents put a telescope up there for him to look out the windows. Minho was swooning over his excitement while he talked about the bike trails he knows are in the back, how his mother used to keep a lavish garden and felt his heart shatter when he mentioned the way her roses withered as divorce became a realistic option for his parents. Minho makes a mental note to plant roses, to revamp the swing hanging from a tree and to hang lights in the attic. He promises himself to invite Han over to watch movies on his laptop in a blanket fort, swears to keep a telescope for the boy to look out and find parts of himself he feels may be missing.  


“Can I help you when the crews are done? You don’t have to pay me or anything.” Han chirps, leaning his head in front of Minho’s spaced out gaze. Minho blinks, processing the puppy eyes in front of him and replaying the words in his head. Minho gives Han a soft smile, telling him that he’s always welcome to help and be here. Han smiles wide, leaning forward just enough to make Minho’s throat close. He squeezes his eyes shut, nervous to feel lips brushing against his own. Instead, he feels their noses brush together softly, Han rubbing them together three times in the most wholesome display of thanks Minho has ever witnessed. He peeks an eye open only after he feels the heat of Han move back into place, no longer leaning in front of him and the crinkling of the snack bag giving away that Han is clearly unbothered by the eskimo kiss. Minho blinks his eyes fully open in disbelief, the tips of his ears a bit red. They don’t talk about it.

For the past week Han has been biking to the house after his shift much to Minho’s dismay. No matter how much he offers to drive him, Han refuses and tells him every time that he used to ride the distance regularly as a child and not to worry about him. Today is no different, Minho happily setting up the cans of paint in the taped off room, his face and pants already smudged with different shades of neutral colors from the other two rooms he’s worked on alone. From down the hall, he hears the front door creak open, calling out for Han to find him in the soon to be bedroom. Han pops his head into the doorway, smiling at how messy Minho is as he pours the paint into the small pan for rollers. Minho smiles up at him, nodding for him to enter and handing him a roller as he does. He’s glad to see that Han changed after being told paint would be involved, his attire much more casual than normal. He is dressed in an already stained shirt, Han tells him it's the shirt he uses to dye his own hair. Minho gives him an impressed look, complimenting the silver hair he apparently did himself. Han bubbles at the compliment, giggling softly while starting to slather paint onto the walls.  


“Han Jisung,” Minho says, Han looking over to him while continuing to paint. Han hums to tell him he’s listening, Minho still concentrated on the off-white paint spreading beneath his roller. Minho looks over at him, shrugging. “I just like the way it sounds.” Minho admits, Han flushing and turning his attention back to the task at hand. Minho’s speaker comes alive, making Han jump at the sudden noise. Both boys hum and sway to the songs as they play, realizing how similar their music tastes are. Something about it is comforting, Han looking over to the rocking hips of a very distracted Minho. Han smirks, quietly setting his roller into the bin and dipping his thumb into the pooling paint. He lurks behind Minho, the music masking his steps.  


“Minho hyung,” Han says sweetly, Minho turning to face him with a small smile. Han quickly swipes his thumb over Minho’s forehead, whispering ‘Simba’ before taking off down the hall. Minho runs after him, dropping his roller onto the plastic covered floor and dunking his whole hand into the paint as he passes it. Minho is glad for his strong legs, easily keeping eyes on Han throughout the house no matter how many doors he ducks behind. He can hear Han scream laughing as they run, Minho calling out for him to come closer and see what happens. Han slams the bathroom door behind him, leaning his weight against it.  


“Han Jisung, open up and I’ll give you a head start.” Minho coos to the closed door, Han opening it just enough to look through the crack. Minho is smiling genuinely at him, his paint covered hand hidden by the still closed door. Han squints at him, opening it slowly. Minho tries his best to hide his smirk, grabbing Han’s face with the messy hand. He watches as Han’s cheeks squish beneath his fingers, paint memorializing where his hand is half pressed to Han’s throat. The younger boy seems half afraid and half upset about the amount of paint on his face, his squished lips forming a pathetic looking pout. Minho chuckles deeply at the sight, leaning in closer and watching the way Han’s eyes flutter shut in response. Minho blushes at how willing he seems for Minho to kiss him, letting him continue to hold him and feeling the way he ever so gently juts his lips out to meet him. However, kissing isn’t the plan. Minho smirks at the so pliant version of Han, leaning forward and rubbing their noses together three times. An almost too soft whine escapes Han, the boy apparently unable to hide his disappointment. Minho lets him go, walking back to the room with a confident stride that Han doesn’t see. When he lets his eyes open, he frowns at the lack of Minho’s presence, sighing heavily and sulking back to the room as well. He thinks about wiping the paint off before it dries and gets itchy, but he decides to leave it as a reminder of how nice it felt to be held so carelessly by the non-touchy elder. Han pretends not to notice the way he occasionally smirks at it throughout the rest of the day. Minho acts like he doesn’t know Han can see him, loving the avoidant eyes and the way he subconsciously shifts under his gaze. Minho takes pity on him once the paint starts to flake and make him itch, helping him remove it with a warm washcloth and pretending to not see the longing stare aimed at his lips. Han is glad to be spared the embarrassment. 

Minho is in the attic, epipen at the ready in his back pocket while he happily stands on a ladder to string star shaped lights across the walls and ceiling. It’s not too hot up here for once, and since Han and him cleaned out any gross bits from being left alone for six years, Minho had brought small bits of furniture up shortly after Han had left. Now, there is a small loveseat and coffee table for board games or games - the decent sized television already hooked up to the console he brought along with him. The attic is far less intimidating to be in now, the lights and furniture filling up the once too-empty space. Minho brings himself down from the ladder, checking on the loudly inflating air mattress. Han has been busy for the past week or so, not often able to come see the progress being made. Han hasn’t seen the clean kitchen or properly decorated bathrooms, Minho had been too excited for him to come over again now that there was so much more to show off. While the mattress continues to fill, Minho pulls out the small couch so the frame is ready for the air mattress as soon as it’s done, tediously setting up the gaming system before rushing down to gather as many blankets as he can find. He bundles sheets and thick blankets into his arms, making a total of three trips in order to have enough blankets for both the bed as well as the fort to be made. He originally wanted to surprise Han with it already finished, but at the last second he had decided it may be more fun to build it together. So, he texted Han while preparing, Minho currently scrambling to at least finish the bed since the boy should be arriving any minute now. He leaves the folded blankets in a neat display on the bed, running down to grab pillows and freezing when the front door creaks open. He stares, Han giving him a confused look.  


“Pillows? Why are you carrying those?” Han teases, taking his shoes off and sliding along the newly redone wooden floor. He slides up to Minho, nearly running into him. Minho holds a pillow out to stop him gently, Han chuckling and mumbling something about having his own personal airbag to protect him. Minho rolls his eyes and tosses the pillows back onto the bed, grabbing Han’s arm and giving him a grand tour of everything that has changed. Han gawks at the insane amount of progress that has been made in only a week, stepping into the shower and moving the curtain back and forth as his way of ‘testing them.’ Minho tuts at him, telling him to come and see the kitchen, Han immediately running out and nearly tripping over the tub in the process. He runs out before Minho even gets the chance to follow, Han’s loud praise able to be heard while Minho walks calmly into the kitchen and bursting into a fit of laughter when met with Han sitting on the countertops and looking far too interested in the new cookware.  


“Off, off,” Minho chuckles, swatting Han off of the counter and remaining unswayed even as the shorter boy pouts. Han is still holding the large whisk in his hand, waving it in circles in front of Minho’s face as if it were a wand. Before Han speaks, Minho holds the whisk still. “Yes, I know it’s leviosa and not leviosah.” Minho chuckles, taking the whisk entirely from his hand and laughing at how shocked Han looks because of how apparently predictable he is to Minho. Han frowns.  


“Just because you finished my joke doesn’t mean it isn’t funny.” Han states, arms crossed and back pressed against the countertop. Minho taps his nose with a hum, walking out of the kitchen knowing Han will tail behind him without being told to. Minho makes a comment for Han to take the pillows and come with him. Han does, throwing one of the pillows to Minho and trying to hold in his laughter when it messes his hair. Minho leads them into the attic, a soft gasp from Han making it’s way directly into his heart. He helps Han up the last stair, taking the pillow and laying it on the bed. When he turns to Han, he is immediately crushed into a hug, Han sniffling against his shoulder. Minho slides his hands across Han’s back as a comfort, one hand holding him steady while he shakes in Minho’s arms. “I’m sorry for crying,” Han whines, pulling away from the embrace and wiping his eyes with a large smile. “I’m just shocked.” He looks at the set up, Minho ruffling his hair as he leans to inspect the blankets.  


“I thought we could make a fort,” Minho says casually despite being able to feel his heart in his ears. Han nods quickly, handing him a blanket and helping him make the best fort they can out of the large colored sheets and patterned blankets. If there is ever a time when Han is meticulous, it is during things like this. He needs every blanket to fall perfectly, the colors to make sense next to each other and he needs there to be no gaps. The sight of him micromanaging the fort makes Minho smile, far from offended whenever Han adjusts a blanket Minho placed too far from another. He sits on the bed, admiring how Han will take a step back to check his work before attacking whatever small problem he sees again, standing back once more before moving on to another section. After a few minutes of preening the fort, Han sits beside Minho with a dopey grin, leaning in to quickly brush their noses together. Minho may or may not flush at the action, but he smiles nonetheless. Now isn’t the time to get sheepish. Not while Han is the happiest he’s seen him, not when there are games for him to destroy Han in. He hands Han a controller, glad they thought to tuck the blankets behind the screen rather than covering it accidentally. He admires Han’s handiwork, noticing the way he even managed to make a tent-like door for them to come and go as they need.  


After many, many games, Han pouts at Minho. He shoves the controller into Minho’s hands while Minho just laughs at the tantrum. Han sighs dramatically, claiming to only be bad at the one specific game. Minho agrees half heartedly, assuring him that he never had a chance to beat him in this game. Han slaps his thigh from his laid back position, Minho sitting up and patting Han’s side in mock sympathy.  


“Not my fault you suck, Han Jisung.” Minho teases, switching the screen to put on a movie of some sort.  


“I suck, but not at games.” Han mumbles, Minho raising his eyebrows and wiggling them at the suddenly bashful Han. “Not what I mean!” Han whines, taking the pillow from behind his head and hitting Minho’s back with it. Minho just chuckles, saying something along the lines of yeah, sure, earning him another whine from behind him. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t do it to you anyway.” Han grumbles, sitting himself up and crossing his arms to emphasize his grumpy tone. Minho looks at him with half real, half fake sadness.  


“You wouldn’t?” Minho dramatically pouts his lip, scrunching his eyebrows together. “Even if I asked nicely?” He adds, Han’s face turning a lovely shade of red at the implication. He looks away, Minho replacing his expression with a smirk. Han glances up at him, yanking the controller from his hand and scrolling through movies. After a moment of Minho being smug and Han quietly searching, Minho hears Han mumble under his breath.  


“I guess if you asked really, really nicely I would consider it.” Han mumbles, seemingly unaware Minho could hear him. Either that or he didn’t care if he heard him; Minho isn’t sure which of those possibilities makes him blush worse. 

Minho clears his throat, trying to level his voice into the non-flustered version.  


“You can stay the night, since you don’t have work.” He says, trying to casually rest his head on his hand and having to play it off as his elbow slips off of the arm of the couch. Han looks at him as if he never said anything remotely similar to the words that just left his mouth, an innocent smile making Minho smile sheepishly. Han nods, telling him he just needs to call his grandmother to tell her. When Han excuses himself and leaves the fort to call downstairs, Minho groans to himself. He rubs his face. How is he getting attached so fast? “Snap out of it.” He whispers to himself, despite the fact that he is completely whipped for a certain Han Jisung is entirely evident in his mind. And heart. And d-  


“All set.” Han chirps as he slides back into the bed, handing Minho a drink he brought up with him. It’s going to be a long night. 

For most of the night, things went smoothly. The movie was good, they played a few rematches, Han actually won a few games. Minho convinced Han somehow to let him cook something for them, Minho groaned in fake annoyance as Han tailed behind him to ‘keep him company’ in the kitchen. By keeping him company, Han had actually meant that he would be stealing the occasional bite of the cooking food whenever he thought Minho wasn’t looking. If Han hadn’t looked so happy with his cheeks full and his legs dangling over the edge of the counter, he would have told him he knew he was doing it. He did, however, swat him off the counter again much to Han’s annoyance. He had rolled his eyes, Minho catching the action as it was ending, flicking the boy’s ear and reminding him to not be rude to a hyung, much less a hyung making him food. While Han was holding his ear and glaring, Minho heard him grumble something about ‘just don’t spit in my food.’ Minho was tempted. He liked to think he was, anyway.  


They had carefully brought their plates up to the attic, Minho threatening Han about the many ways he will hurt him should he mess up the bed. With a passive flick of the wrist, Han sat and nearly immediately dropped a small portion of sauce onto the bed, giving him a wide-eyed apology. Minho was shocked at how fast he was talking, his eyebrows furrowed at the stumbling words. Near the end of it, Minho made out just enough of the chatter to feel his face soften, ‘I’m sorry hyungie,’ making him flush enough to turn away and tell him to calm down before he makes a bigger mess. Minho hadn’t been specifically talking about the food, but Han didn’t need to know that.  


Now, as Minho walks back upstairs after quietly rinsing the plates and silverware, he swears he can hear soft giggles from inside the fort. He lingers, loving the resemblance to windchimes, smiling fondly at the makeshift structure before snapping himself out of it enough to enter with a neutral expression. Han throws something away from him last minute, faking a casual pose much like every bad comedy movie. Minho squints at him, crawling over Han’s extended legs and sitting cautiously. Minho feels around for his phone, clicking it on to check the time and staring at his lock screen for a bit longer than he means to. He can’t help it, not when he’s suddenly met with a rather appealing selfie of the boy beside him, who is currently staring too intently at the screen with his hoodie pulled over his nose. In the photo, he’s smiling with a peace sign held to his face, Minho blinking for a moment before realizing Han hadn’t been wearing a hoodie earlier. Minho looks at him, tightening the strings of the hoodie so it shuts over Han’s eyes, a whine muffled from beneath the fabric.  


“How did you get that?” Minho tries to scold, a chuckle more evident in his tone than he’d like. Han shrugs, adjusting the hood just enough to peek one eye through. “Yah, that one is my favorite!” Minho says, trying to ignore how close to a whine it is. He can feel Han grinning beneath the hoodie, knowing he’s probably smug about the acquired warmth.  


“It was on the back of the couch,” Han says passively, the smile coming though in his tone. “It was soft, it smelled nice, I wanted to wear it.” Han states matter-of-factly, shrugging again while Minho just stares in disbelief. At least he smells nice, he supposes. Minho sighs, shaking his head lightly at the hoarding squirrel and sliding himself to rest his head against the pillow. Minho pulls the blanket up to his chest, folding his arms over the top of it and watching their second movie of the night. Han and Minho watch as the characters on the screen begin an all too sloppy make-out session, Han flushing and looking at Minho to see if he’s as shy about it as he is. When he looks at him he sees a face of near disgust, the corners of his mouth frowning and his eyebrows scrunched up. “Not one for kisses in the middle of a life or death battle?” Han asks, trying to calm himself down by picking on the older. Minho makes a sound halfway between a snort and a scoff, responding without looking at Han.  


“Not one for girls always ending up with the hot male lead.” Minho says, definitely not realizing the words as they drive a shock into Han’s heart, Han just nodding with a few too many blinks before returning his eyes to the screen.  


“Not one for girls at all, I take it.” Han says, trying his best to not sound as suffocated as he feels, Minho pausing before turning to look at him. They look at each other for another eternity, Minho clearing his throat and turning away. He shrugs. Shrugs as an answer.  


“I’m sorry if you’re bothered by it.” Minho says softly, scooting a bit farther away from Han and hugging the blanket tighter to himself.  


“I’m not,” Han rushes out, reaching over and turning Minho’s face a bit too harshly in order for them to lock eyes. Minho gives him a tight-lipped smile, nodding once in understanding and glancing at the way Han is holding his face similarly to how he had done to him not long ago. Han looks down at his own hand, letting it pull away gently after swiping his thumb over the small impressions his fingers had left. “Don’t worry about it, hyung. I’m not one for girls either.” Han says just above a whisper, smiling at him with soft eyes and an even softer chuckle. They look at each other for a moment, the movie completely forgotten. It feels too close, too warm, too hard on Minho’s nearly aching heart. He doesn’t know why he was so concerned about Han taking it poorly, even if he hadn’t meant to let it slip. Minho can’t tell if it’s the atmosphere hanging heavy around them or if it’s the mutual ache of someone finally understanding, but he’s convinced Han has moved closer to him. He’s convinced he sees Han’s eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips, swears he can feel the warm breath fanning over him as his eyes flutter shut. He stays still, letting whatever may happen happen and deciding to worry about the rest later. It feels like forever, waiting like this, his eyes fluttering open right as Han moves his head away from the interaction that never actually happened despite both of them feeling as if it had. Minho is terrified. Did he read the situation wrong? Han and Minho look at each other with equally flushed faces, Han awkwardly lifting Minho’s hand for a one-sided fist bump as a replacement for their lips. The action makes both of them choke out a relieved laugh at the realization that neither of them are sure what it meant or how to handle the almost of it all. They return to their original positions, Han with his knees to his chest and Minho laying himself flat again. They each sigh quietly, choosing to ignore the looming what if in their minds. Yeah, a long night indeed.  


Minho wakes up much earlier than he intends to, light from the windows bleeding into the fort. He smiles rather than his usual groan of annoyance, glad that there are still blankets up. He hadn’t dreamt any of what happened, he hadn’t dreamt about the way Han and him had fallen asleep on the same bed. Han. Minho lets his eyes adjust to the brightness, expecting to see the back of Han’s head. Much to his happiness, he sees Han facing him, the hood of Minho’s sweater pulled over his head. Han’s face is half hidden by the blanket, the boy curled cutely close to Minho. Minho smiles lazily, admiring the way Han’s hair messily falls over his eyes and the way the blankets slowly rise and fall along with Han’s soft breathing. Because Minho had woken up on his back, he shamelessly rolls to face Han’s small form. He rests their foreheads together, Han gently stirring at the touch and letting a small sigh out of his parted lips. Minho considers counting Han’s eyelashes to pass the time, considers making the boy breakfast for when he wakes up. He can’t make himself move, though, too warm and comfortable like this to want to ever leave the bed.  


Minho doesn’t know why he does it, sliding his arm to wrap over Han’s thin waist and rub this thumb over the soft fabric of his favorite hoodie. He internally coos at how loosely it fits Han, shutting his eyes to enjoy the morning closeness. It almost shocks him when Han’s hand finds his shirt, gently holding onto the bunched fabric falling off his chest. It makes Minho blush more than anything else, desperately wanting Han to wake up to them like this. He’d love to pretend to be sleeping, able to see his genuine reaction. He feels Han wriggle his way closer to his chest, nuzzling his head under Minho’s chin. Minho is afraid his pounding heart may wake Han up, at this point. Still, Minho tightens his grip around Han, his arm looping under the smaller boy’s and his hand wrapping over the top of the small shoulder. Han seems content, another sleep filled sigh making its way to warm Minho’s chest. Minho isn’t sure why he is still smiling, nor why he decides to separate the two of them just enough to rub their noses together three times. He wonders why he brings his chin back to rest on the top of Han’s head, leaving a small lingering kiss on the top of the hood before acting as if it hadn’t happened. It feels right, he supposes. It would feel wrong if he didn’t do it.  


Luckily for Minho, he gets his wish. He hears a yawn come from Han, a moment of him coming to his senses before his body tenses. Minho considers pulling away, pretending to roll over or just hum and press his head back against his chest to tell him it’s okay to be there. Instead, he lets Han gently move away. He stays close enough for Minho’s arm to stay in place, Han inching himself up to Minho’s face. Minho can feel his stare, trying his best not to smile and scare him off. He feels the familiar closeness of Han’s face, the heart warming three swipes at his nose and the weight of Han’s head making Minho’s pillow dip a bit more. He can’t help but smile.  


“Han Jisung,” Minho says in his near gruff morning voice, the hand on Han’s shoulder reaching up to remove the hood and lace his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of Han’s neck. He feels the goosebumps form, Han remaining quiet. If Minho were to open his eyes, he’s sure he’d find a very red Han. “You look so peaceful when you’re curled against me.” Minho muses, humming through a closed-mouth yawn. His fingers mindlessly rake up and down, occasionally twirling small tufts of Han’s hair happily while he’s sure Han is looking at him with wide eyes. Right now, he doesn’t care. Han’s hair is too soft, his body too warm. He could stay here forever.  


“I need to use the bathroom, hyung.” Han almost whispers, Minho lazily opening his eyes. He was right, Han entirely flushed. Minho wants to be smug, wants to tease him. Their faces are so, so close. Their noses are practically touching, Han’s eyes trained on the bit of fabric he’s fiddling with from the neckline of Minho’s shirt. Minho sighs, reluctant to let Han out of his grip so soon. He can tell Han doesn’t really want to move away either, despite his apparent need for the bathroom. So, Minho decides to pull Han against him again, burying his face in the crook of Han’s neck. He may or may not love the feeling of their chests being gently pressed together, love the way Han smells. He gets a bit greedy in his still half-asleep mind, moving his fingers out of Han’s hair and holding his waist as he pushes himself to be practically flush against the younger. He can hear Han’s breath hitch at the action, his shaky voice reminding him he needs to get out of bed. Minho grumbles into Han’s neck, ‘do you have to’ making his lips ghost over the soft skin. Han nods, shifting a bit at the tickling sensation. Oh. Minho blushes.  


“I’m sorry,” Han says, a bit of panic laced in his soft tone. “It’s just, it’s the morning and-” Minho hushes him, absentmindedly planting a small kiss wherever his lips can reach. He thinks nothing of it until Han makes a small whimpering sound, Minho suddenly much more awake than he has been this entire time. Both boys stay completely still, Minho being the one to gently untangle himself and clear his throat. He leans onto his elbows, Han covering his face with the too-long arms of the hoodie. Minho rubs the rest of the sleep out of his eyes, one hand lifting to ruffle the soft silver hair in a much safer way. “I’m sorry,” Han says, muffled by the thick fabric. Minho tuts at him, telling him he should’ve realized since he too, is a boy with male parts. It makes both of them chuckle, Han uncovering his face and adjusting the hoodie to cover himself as he swings his body to sit up. Minho may or may not be a bit upset at the coverage. He’d rather Han be comfortable, though. Minho sits up as well, trying to tame his messy hair and pretend like he isn’t curious about anything beneath his hoodie. Han still makes no effort to move, Minho assuming he may be waiting to see if it goes away on its own. He knows that feeling, so he holds in how badly he wants to jokingly ask if he wants help with it. Jokingly, of course.  


“Are you going to stay here for the day?” Minho asks instead, Han seeming to think it over before nodding.  


“I just need to check in at home and get clothes.” Han says through a yawn, Minho frowning a bit. He’s come to adore the sight of Han in his clothes.  


“Just wear mine. You already have an affinity for them.” Minho says, gesturing to the hoodie. Han smiles sheepishly, nodding and agreeing to wear his clothes after he showers. Minho fears he may pass out, knowing he will have full control over what the boy will wear. Minho may or may not get lost in thought about what clothes may be cutest on him, which clothes he could give him that would very obviously not belong to Han. So many options. 

After watching Han happily eat the food Minho made for them, Han excused himself to shower. Minho told him he’d bring the clothes into the bathroom, trying his best to not run and search for options. Considering Han still has to go home, Minho decides to have mercy on him no matter how desperately he wants to have him wearing a half-sheer shirt Minho frequently chooses for the occasional night out. Minho wants to imagine how he would look in it, but he quickly shoves the thought from his mind. Instead, he picks out a smaller pair of fake leather pants, which fit a bit tight to him but he’s assuming they will fit Han nicely. He clasps the chain onto them, making sure all the extras are involved with the outfit. He rustles through shirts, finding an older one he’s kept mostly for memories considering it doesn’t fit him anymore. It may even form fit Han, and Minho is far from opposed to the concept. It’s a shirt he often pairs with a particular jacket, so he pulls that out as well. It’s very Minho, and he couldn’t be happier about it. He rushes to bring them to the bathroom, tapping a knuckle twice on the door. When he hears the okay, Minho steps in and sets them down on the counter. He stares at the drawn curtain, swallowing thickly at the sudden dryness in his throat. He knows Han is naked behind it, he knows that one pull of the curtain would allow him to see. He doesn’t, but he’d be lying if he didn’t say he was tempted.  


“Clothes are on the counter,” Minho chokes out, Han acknowledging him before Minho quietly leaves and closes the door behind him. It’s been what, two weeks? Two weeks and he already feels like this? Minho huffs, bringing himself back upstairs to find an outfit for himself. He decides to dress similarly to how he had dressed Han, just in case the boy has any suspicions about the tight fitting outfit.  


After dressing himself and walking back toward the living room, Han emerges with a towel around his neck and still damp hair. Minho nearly loses his breath, Han looking far better than he could’ve imagined. Minho stares at him, Han looking at him rather sheepishly. Han must be able to see how badly Minho wants to approach him, to comment about the way it fits or how desperately he wants to hold onto the normally hidden figure. Han must know, right? That has to be why he’s coming closer, a smug smile on his lips. Minho tries to stop looking, tries to stop fidgeting with the chain on his own pants as a substitute for Han’s. He doesn’t know what he expects, but for Han to push him back onto the couch and plant himself in his lap is not it. Yet, here they are. Instinctively, Minho’s hands hold Han’s thighs. Han’s arms are looped around Minho’s neck, their faces far too close for Minho to not glance at Han’s mouth, which is upturned in a devilish grin. He definitely knows.  


“What’s this for?” Minho asks dumbly, doing his best to not move around beneath Han. Han says something in response, Minho too focussed on the feeling of thick thighs pressed tightly on his sides to really pay attention. Minho blinks, asking him to repeat what he said.  


“I wanted to,” Han sighs dramatically, puppy eyes making an appearance as he pouts. “You got to hold me earlier.” Han states as an explanation, cozying himself on Minho’s lap.  


“I’m still holding you, now,” Minho says, tilting his head a bit to emphasize his weak attempt at sassing him. Han hums, shrugging.  


“But this time I started it.” He smiles widely, throwing his head into the space between Minho’s ear and shoulder, rubbing his wet hair along Minho’s skin and shirt. The action makes Minho pull away, whining about his clothes getting wet and inadvertently tightening his grip on Han. Han stops for a moment, resting his forehead on Minho’s collarbone. Minho is nervous, partially because of the idea that he may have hurt Han and partially because Han can be a conniving little shit when he wants to be. Han silently moves one of Minho’s hands to fit snugly beneath his hip bone, Minho’s fingers wrapping around dangerously close to where Han’s (admittedly nice) ass begins to curve outward while his thumb is pressed into the soft, plush skin right where his leg is bent. Minho tries not to think about it. He definitely doesn’t think about the position they’re in, or how perfectly Han fits in his hands. He would never imagine the many scenarios he could hold Han like this, and absolutely none of them are vulgar thoughts. Nope.  


Minho lets out a shaky breath, unsure of Han’s evil plan. Sure, maybe Minho had made it obvious that he liked what he saw. Maybe he hadn’t meant to, but this was absolutely not the outcome he expected from it. Han moves his other hand to a similar position, only this one a bit higher so that only the tip of his thumb dips into the tight fitted shirt and presses against skin that has no business being that soft. Minho likes to think that the tiny noise from Han is all in his head, keeping his hands where they are placed and not doing much else while Han’s head is still hanging between them. They sit like this for a moment, Minho able to calm himself down a bit until he feels a small but sharp sting on his clothed collarbone. He hisses at the unexpected pain, gripping Han tightly in response without thinking. Minho definitely isn’t imagining the small sound Han makes, Han’s breath definitely changing into a small pant against his already heating up body. Minho wants to throw him off, knowing that anything more will result in a rather embarrassing moment once Han moves too much or steps off of him. So, Minho loosens his grip, letting his head rest back against the couch while he wills himself to think about the least sexy things he can imagine. Maybe he’s trying to get back at him for this morning. Yeah, that’s a Han thing to do.  


Han tries to scoot a bit closer, Minho using his thumbs to press him away and keep him from where Minho honestly would like him to be. Since he isn’t about to admit it by letting it happen, he presses harshly into the boy above him. Han isn’t deterred, trying again to get a bit closer before near whimpering at the amount of force below his hips. Minho clenches his jaw and tries to pretend like it didn’t happen.  


“Han Jisung.” Minho says, keeping his voice as firm as he can. “What are you doing?”  


“Nothing, hyung.” Han says smoothly other than the airy tone. Minho wishes that were the truth, hating how easily Han is getting his way and how he honestly doesn’t really mind it. He should mind, shouldn’t he? With his eyes shut, jaw clenched and head still resting on the back of the couch, Minho thinks he honestly should have expected it. He thinks he should be nowhere near as shocked as he is to feel a small kiss placed on his easily accessible neck. The small, lingering sensation of Han’s kiss makes him grip the poor boy’s hips until his knuckles turn pale, Han groaning in what Minho can’t differentiate between enjoyment or discomfort. Once Minho’s grip loosens and he’s just about ready to tackle the boy onto the floor and flick the center of his forehead for all of this, Minho feels another kiss. When he doesn’t react the same way, Han decides it best to skip over the small pecks he had been giving and land an open mouthed kiss directly below Minho’s jaw. Minho doesn’t mean to tilt his head, doesn’t mean to breathe out an airy moan but he does. Much to his dismay, it’s apparently not the reaction Han had wanted. Han starts to suck a bruise onto his skin, Minho once again gripping him as if his life depended on it. It makes Han let go of his neck, gasping a bit at the harsh way Minho is holding him while his hips buck forward even under the intense pressure. Oh, this is what he wanted.  


Both boys stop, flushed and trying to collect themselves. While he has the chance, Minho flips them to press Han into the couch. Han’s eyes are wide, but Minho’s are burning.  


“I didn’t do that to you.” Minho says, sounding almost genuinely angry. Han stutters out an apology, whining quietly as his hips are pressed harder into the surface beneath him. “This is what you wanted, right?” Minho asks rhetorically, looming over Han’s crumpled form. Han nods twice, looking away and cursing under his breath when Minho leans most of his weight into Han’s hips. “You just wanted to be held down.” Minho growls, pushing hard once for emphasis and once more because he kind of enjoys the look of Han beneath him. Han nods again, muttering more variations of I’m sorry. Minho hums, a cocky smile playing on his lips when he sees how flustered he’s gotten him. “Ask next time.” Minho says, pulling fully away from Han and smirking when he sees Han cover himself with a pillow as he walks away to the bathroom. Things just got interesting. 

After the confusing interaction passed, Minho easily acted like nothing happened. It baffled Han, who had riled the older up enough to see a new side to him. Han had originally only intended a game of chicken, wanting to embarrass Minho because of how the morning had played out. He had noticed his voice breaking while he was in the shower, smiling to himself where Minho couldn’t see. Even though he had closed the door quietly, Han was able to hear it and inevitably learn that he had been lingering. It was a sound plan, until it suddenly wasn’t. If Minho hadn’t gripped him so tightly, it would have been a far more lighthearted interaction. If he hadn’t moaned while Han was trying to make him squirm and laugh, he would have gotten off the boy’s lap far sooner. If he hadn’t flipped Han onto his back and used his weight to force his body into the couch, Han wouldn’t have had a second embarrassing erection in the span of three hours. Unfortunately, that’s how it had played out. So, with Minho talking to him in a normal tone and attitude, Han is struggling to keep up appearances. He wants to ask what he meant by ‘ask next time,’ or how he is able to flip his switch so easily. Han clearly can’t, and it is honestly so unfair.  


“Are you coming inside?” Han asks, hopping out of the truck. Han can be normal if Minho can. Minho blinks at him, looking at Han and then to the small white house. Just as Han is about to revoke the offer out of panic, Minho smiles and cuts the engine. Han smiles and shuts the door.  


The two of them walk up the gravel driveway, Han collecting the mail as they pass the hand painted mailbox. Minho makes a passing comment about it, Han hitting his shoulder with the small stack of envelopes. Han explains that his fourteen year old self had painted it and his grandmother never wanted to let him change it, so it stayed in all of it’s brush stroke tye dye glory. Minho chuckles, telling him he likes it. Han just scoffs, telling him that he sounds like his grandmother.  


With that, they are walking up the small steps, potted plants hanging on either side of the porch light. Han unlocks the door and takes his shoes off outside the door, Minho copying his actions and looking around the perfectly air conditioned house. He sees a lot of art on the walls, plants in the windows, a small white cat hopping down from a chair and happily rubbing between their legs. Minho smiles, squatting down to pet it.  


“Her name is Sydney.” Han explains, mindlessly sorting through the mail and making two small piles on the kitchen table. “My best friend lives there.” Minho nods, kissing the top of the cat’s head and standing straight again.  


“Hannie?” A sweet voice calls, Minho smiling evilly at the useful nickname. Han calls back, a shorter woman appearing from a connecting hallway. “Jisung,” She says, looking down at her paint splattered apron and stained hands. “I would have been far more presentable if you told me someone was coming.” She chides, shuffling around to set down her apron and wipe her hand off on it. Minho’s eyes follow her, smiling at the way her short hair bounces just like Han’s does. Han tells her not to leave it there, kissing her head and taking it from the back of the wooden chair. He disappears, making a quick comment about putting it back before his grandmother ushers Minho to sit. Minho bows, sitting and folding his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry, what was your name?” She asks, already busying herself with making the three of them tea. Minho watches her, thinking about how similar her and his mother are.  


“My name is Minho,” He says, Han’s grandmother turning and smiling at him. She holds up a tea box, setting it on the table for Minho to choose. “What can I call you?” He asks, thumbing through the different compartments of neatly packaged and labeled loose-leaf tea, glancing up as she speaks.  


“Most people call me Honey, so please don’t feel the need to be so formal.” She smiles, Minho chuckling and nodding. When Minho sees her go to a stool to reach the kettle, Minho stands quickly and offers to get it for her. She waves him away, reminding him to sit. “You’re a guest.”  
Han comes back into the room, exclaiming and doing the same thing Minho had just done, taking the stool away from her and getting the kettle from the shelf. She frowns at him and waves her hand dismissively, taking the kettle and shaking her head.  


“I always put it there when I do the dishes, I forget she can’t reach it.” Han says to Minho as he sits beside him, Honey turning and pointing a finger at him. I can hear you, the finger implies. Han blows a kiss to her, which she reluctantly pretends to catch and put it in her pocket. Minho grins at the interaction. Han leans into his ear, telling him that the cups are all ones that Honey hand made. Minho gives him a wide eyed look, picking up one of the detailed cups and ogling at the tiny brushwork. A family of artists, he supposes. Minho makes sure to compliment the cups, each of them different enough to tell they were hand painted. Honey just smiles and thanks him, Han getting up to help her lift the full kettle once it whistles.

Once they finish their tea and their brief discussion about who Minho is to Han and how they met, as well as how he is coincidentally fixing up Han’s old house, Honey excuses herself to return to her pottery wheel before the open paint dries out. She waves the boys toward Han’s room, Han scooping up Sydney and inviting Minho to step in before he does. Minho smiles at the tapestries and the cluttered desk that is overflowing with art supplies. He follows the string of color changing lights around the edges of Han’s room, periodically changing between four alternating colors. Han sits on his bed, Minho paying too much attention to how the thick comforter dips under his weight. Sydney finds her way to a small bean bag chair, claiming it as her own as if yelling at Minho to sit next to Han. Minho decides to listen to the wise cat. His eyes scan over the many polaroids strung beside Han’s bed, photos of him with his friends and his grandmother spanning themselves as a timeline all the way to older looking photos of what he assumes to be young Han with his parents. Sure enough, there is a photo of Han on the much newer looking version of the now tattered swing at the house. Minho can feel his expression soften, loving how sentimental Han secretly is. Han clears his throat, Minho looking at him. Han points to one of the photos, one of him and a red haired boy with freckles smiling in what looks like an airport.  


“That’s my best friend, Felix.” Han says, pointing out a few other photos of them together. “He has family out here, so I don’t get to see him much when he makes the trip.” Han smiles fondly at the photos, a hint of sadness making itself evident. Minho just nods, telling him he enjoys all of the photos. It makes Han grin, turning away from the wall and gesturing to the art desk. “I make comics sometimes. Nothing extraordinary.” He says, Minho already making his way to look at the scattered papers. He looks through them, telling Han that they’re all impressive even if he doesn’t think so. Han blushes behind him, thanking him quietly and laying back on his stack of three pillows. Minho figures it should have been hinted that Han would be so artistic, the photo of the chalkboard from the restaurant they went to still in his phone and maybe on his social media that he won’t admit to having. It makes something in him stir, nonetheless. 

As the sun begins to set, Minho begins to dread having to go home alone. He wants to chalk it up to being bored in such a big house all alone, knowing that the supplies for the next step in renovating are still in the process of being delivered. He wants to pretend like it has nothing to do with Han specifically, telling himself that he should try and make more friends so he doesn’t take up all of Han’s free time. He thinks about this while laying beside Han in the perfect sized bed, both of them on their backs with only their shoulders and arms touching. Maybe Minho thinks about intertwining their fingers, maybe he thinks about pulling the boy closer to him. He doesn’t, though, looking at Han’s peaceful looking expression as they listen to music playing through Han’s small speaker. Minho’s head is turned just enough to look over his closed eyes, to admire his eyelashes and how defined his profile is. Maybe he considers even kissing him. Maybe. Minho feels his heart swell along with the song playing, something about being in Han’s safe space making him lose his breath. He’s comfortable with Minho being here, with laying beside him and even closing his eyes while they lay in silence. If it weren’t for the occasional soft humming to the tune, Minho would have assumed he had fallen asleep.  


Minho raises himself gently, propping himself up on his elbow and twisting his torso to half-heartedly face Han. Han seems unbothered by the shifting, Minho slowly bringing his hand up to cup one side of Han’s face. He flinches at first, not expecting the touch, but allows Minho to turn his head toward him. Han’s eyes flutter open slowly, finding Minho leaning over his face just close enough to make his heart stutter. Minho looks half determined and half confused, his eyes flicking over Han’s entire face while his hand remains softly against his cheek. Neither of them speak, Han waiting patiently for whatever Minho intends to do.  


Another moment passes, Han lifting himself onto his elbows as well, only his head facing Minho. Minho instinctively moves away as Han’s face rises toward him, his faint blush hidden by the lights overhead being just dim enough. Minho sighs quietly, setting their foreheads together gently, closing his eyes and letting their noses bump softly in the process. Although it is easy to avoid, both boys act like their lips brushing together is an accident. It isn’t much, the smallest friction between them lighting so many fires at once. Minho swears he can hear Han swallow nervously, every instinct in him screaming for him to make it happen again. So he does, their lips lingering together without any pressure from either side. They breathe against each other slowly, each of them trying to calm their hearts from the almost too perfect feeling. Minho lets out a small huff, exhilaration making him lose his mental footing. He pulls away enough to instead rub their noses together three times, their faces remaining close as each of them blink their eyes open to confirm that something actually almost happened this time. They blush, Han glancing down and Minho to the side. Neither of them see the other’s faint smile, or the way one bites their lip softly or the other blinks the shock out of his system, respectively. They lay back down in silence, each of them on their backs again. They don’t talk about it, Minho just nodding happily when Han whispers an offer for him to stay the night. The song changes. 

It has been nearly two weeks since Minho had spent the night at Han’s. Something about the late night almost forced both of them into working more. Minho is convinced that the universe saw them so close and willed them apart, Minho’s shipment coming in as soon as he had gotten home and Han getting called in to work doubles thanks to someone quitting that day. They’ve texted, each of them seeing the messages an hour after they are sent or so, the attempted conversations ending up choppy and delayed at best. For two weeks, Minho has been finishing the rooms of the house alone, sad he has no one to chase around whenever he paints something. He hates the way he wants Han here. He hates how lonely the house seems without him, and hates how little he’s heard the boy’s voice recently. Minho has been inadvertently forced into silence, not particularly used to talking to himself just to make sure he remembers how to speak. He’s been cooking and eating alone, spending time in the attic alone. He’s tried to pull his mind away from it all by playing games and failing when he reaches any part he wishes he had a second player for. He thinks about how badly he only wants one person to play the game with him.  


Now, as he’s sitting on his bed in the actual bedroom he finished last week, he can’t help but sigh sadly. He’s glad he hasn’t changed his background out of playful spite, staring hopelessly at his lock screen just for the sake of pretending the boy is beside him. He’s sure he’s gone off the deep end once he swears he hears the boy’s voice. It sounds muffled, but he’d know it anywhere. He swears he’s losing his mind, the voice stopping after a moment and reappearing again just before he hears the front door open.  


“Hyung!” Han calls, Minho scrambling out of bed and tripping over his feet as he rushes out of his room. He’s glad he hadn’t imagined it, Han standing in his uniform and looking disheveled from the bike ride here. Minho smiles widely, running up to him and lifting the boy off the ground in the tightest hug he swears he’s ever given. He breathes in as much of Han as possible, so happy to hear Han’s giggle at the realization he’s essentially dangling and even happier to hear the familiar whine of embarrassment. The first time Han whines to be let go, Minho just squeezes him tighter, shutting the door with his fingertips and wiggling Han from side to side once he isn’t concerned about bugs coming in. When Han whines again, he finally sets him down even though he desperately doesn’t want to.  


“Are you free tomorrow?” Minho rushes out, still standing close to Han and still finding ways to touch him and make sure he’s real. Han nods, Minho’s heart skipping. “Staying here?” He asks hopefully, Han faking his thought and nodding once Minho jokingly shakes his shoulders to rush his already decided answer. Minho holds in his squeal of excitement, once again taking Han’s arm and bringing him around to the newest developments of the house.  


“You work fast.” Han praises once they find themselves in Minho’s room. Han sits on the bed, exactly where Minho has just been wishing he would be. Something about it makes Minho convinced any and every god had gotten annoyed at his begging for Han. He’s smug about it, having gotten his way.  


“Nothing else to do when you aren’t here,” Minho admits, feeling his cheeks warm up a bit at the blatant guilt of not having any other friends. Han gives him a pout, tapping the bed for Minho to sit beside him. Minho doesn’t have to think twice, sitting so their thighs touch and for once feeling no hesitation about it. Han still blushes at the contact, Minho glad to see that much hasn’t changed.  


“I missed you,” Han says quietly, poking Minho’s knee through the hole in his jeans. Han seems so shy about it that he misses Minho melting at the words, his eyes fixated on where he’s toying with the frayed strings of Minho’s pants. Minho nudges Han’s head with his own, brushing their noses together three times as soon as Han looks up at him. They both smile, knowing that that was Minho admitting he felt the same. How much he agreed, Minho would never admit; he can only hope Han had done some of the same embarrassing things. He’s never going to ask, though.  
Minho asks Han if he wants to shower and change, pointing out which clothes are in what drawer once Han nods happily. He figures he can let the boy pick his own clothes this time, not wanting to abuse his power this time. He’s far too happy just to have Han in the house. Minho confesses to having both showers functioning, the two of them parting ways after picking out clothes to lounge around in for the remainder of the night. Each of them are silently hoping the other is willing to stay awake to make the time last, neither one wanting to admit that they’re unsure about the next time this can happen.  


Upon exiting the shower, something feels a bit different. Minho brushes it off at first, convincing himself that it’s probably just nerves considering he hasn’t seen Han in a while. He lets himself dress, entering the hallway in just a muted blue shirt and his underwear. He doesn’t think twice about it, considering the heat and the fact that this is his house, after all. He regrets nothing about the black boxer briefs whatsoever, feeling arguably more confident and maybe a bit hopeful about how Han may react. He’ll never get tired of seeing the boy’s eyes go wide. When he turns into his room, his own eyes are large. He breaks into a small laugh, seeing Han dressed exactly the same; the only difference being in the shade of blue they chose. Han laughs too, joking that one of them will have to change. Minho sits with him and ruffles his damp hair, Han shooing his hand and letting his laugh simmer into chuckles.  
After shamelessly crying over a movie together, Minho opting for silent tears while Han shakes in his pile of blankets, the boy’s find themselves in the kitchen. Neither admit to loving how domestic they’ve become, Han wrapping his arms around Minho and resting his chin on his shoulder as he stirs the pot of food. Minho considers it a plot for him to steal a taste, indulging Han by lifting the wooden spoon up over his shoulder for him to sip from. Han does so happily, shocking Minho when he doesn’t let go after getting his wish. Instead, Han sighs happily, Minho feeling his face heat up in response.  


They eat together quietly, Han filling Minho in on the chaos of working his doubles and teasing him with ‘if you wanted to see me you should have stopped by the store.’ Minho blushes then, telling him he hadn’t been that desperate despite knowing that he had to fight the urge to go every day. He didn’t want to seem weirdly over attached, so he forced himself home and not much anywhere else. He listens to Han tell him about the rude customers who weren’t happy about only one worker being available and how he swears he didn’t know whether to cry or yell at them, Minho getting angry at the people by proxy. Minho tells Han to call him next time, earning him a big smile and a laugh of ‘okay.’ 

While most of their time had been filled with familiarity and a bit more teasing to make up for lost time, Minho could feel the mood shift. He was used to the comfortable silence, but this one seems to be a bit heavier than any other. Maybe it’s because of the amount of times they’d brushed off glances or the amount of times they’d catch themselves staring at the other’s lips, but he couldn’t be sure. With the choices made in the outfits, Minho can’t exactly give himself room to think too much about anything like that. It would be obvious, and devastatingly so should Han not be thinking of the same thing. So, he doesn’t. To the best of his ability, he doesn’t look at Han as he lies on his stomach, facing the show Minho can’t make himself focus on. He definitely doesn’t run his eyes over Han’s legs or the almost drastic curve where Han’s ass slopes down to a toned back and deep dimples at the bottom of his spine. He doesn’t linger his gaze over Han’s shoulders, doesn’t watch his shoulder blades move as he shifts his weight between his elbows. Okay, maybe he does. He’s sitting with his back against the headboard, his hand resting a bit too close to Han’s hip for him to want to pull it away. Minho swallows the thoughts down, stretching his arms and trying not to think about the soft skin hidden beneath Han’s shirt. Minho blinks, glancing down at his own covered chest and smirking to himself before silently removing it. Left with only one measly fabric to his body, Minho leans back again. Han hadn’t noticed, eyes intently flicking across the screen and mindlessly playing with his bottom lip. Minho shoves aside any worries about this being weird, considering some things they’ve done previously are arguably weirder. So, he lets his confidence swell. He looks at his flat stomach and decently toned arms, happily waiting for the moment Han’s eyes go wide. He tries to be subtle in his attempts to make him look back, occasionally shifting or clicking his phone to ‘check the time.’ None of it works, Han seemingly far more invested than he probably even realizes. So, Minho gets up. He crawls out of his bed, making sure to be obvious about it. He throws the covers off as if they were ever on him in the first place, standing and stretching again before speaking when this all fails.  


“Han Jisung,” He says sweetly, holding the doorknob as if about to exit. Han hums at him, eyes glued to the screen. Minho frowns. He asks him if he wants a drink regardless, Han telling him to grab him water. Minho does so, grabbing two water bottles from the fridge and stalking back to his room. Upon entry, Han looks up. Han’s soft smile quickly turns into a stare; Minho is a bit sad to not see his eyes bulging in shock. Minho smiles innocently at him, holding out the water and Han standing on his knees to take it. Even as his hand reaches out, his eyes are clearly tracing over Minho’s skin, and it’s really hard for him to act as if he doesn’t notice.  


“Hyung,” Han croaks, clearly in need of the water in his hands. Minho hums, moving to return to his spot. Han stops him gently, his fingers just barely resting on his wrist. Minho looks. “I’m asking.” Minho lets his eyebrows furrow for a moment, trying to piece together the meaning of that. He thinks, sorting through anything and everything he can think of as something Han could mean. Minho feels his cheeks flush as soon as the memory clicks into place, remembering his own words when he had held Han in place on the couch. Ask next time. Minho blinks and nods dumbly, not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to but happy if it means touching Han regardless. Minho notices how Han is staring at the light switch, getting the hint and clicking the lights off before sitting back on the bed. Han timidly moves closer, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt and his eyes roaming over Minho again. He glances into Minho’s eyes, slowly lifting the bottom of his shirt to silently ask if it would be okay. Minho gives a curt nod, glancing away with a deeper blush than before. Something about knowing how soft Han is sets him into embarrassment, knowing that when he looks up again he will see the long expanse of his bare torso and be able to properly feel it this time. Minho almost feels dizzy. Han turns the tv to just play music faintly in the background, Minho looking at how the the only light in the room wraps around Han’s thin waist and drapes over his defined collarbones. He wants to run his fingers over the gentle impressions of Han’s ribs, the boy’s faintly defined abs seeming enhanced by the light painting over them. Minho swallows.  


“I’m sorry if this is weird,” Han blurts, looking up at Minho through the hair falling into his eyes, rubbing his neck. Minho’s eyes follow where his hand falls, looking back up and shaking his head.  


“Just show me what you want me to do.” Minho says, not wanting to lead a situation he isn’t sure about. Han breathes out a chuckle, looking down at his hands.  


“Just do it like last time.” Han says, sounding more like a question in some ways. Minho nods, making grabby hands at Han and loving the way he smiles at Minho’s willingness. Han crawls into Minho’s lap, each of them trying their best to not do anything the other may not want. Minho holds Han’s hips tightly, Han immediately letting out a relieved sigh. Minho thinks that the action is somehow relaxing to him, only going sexual when he’s nearly in pain. He supposes that being held is a naturally comfortable thing, he’s just honored to be the one doing it. Plus, watching the way Han’s plush skin squishes between his fingers is the most satisfying thing he’s ever seen. And god, he is so soft. Han hums happily, wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck and letting his chin rest on top of Minho’s head. Minho can’t help but stare at Han’s neck, entirely tempted to kiss the sweet smelling skin and make Han squirm. Luckily, Han is sitting far back enough on Minho’s thighs that for now, the situation is under control. Minho kind of wants to change that, though.  


So, Minho gives in to the temptation. He leaves a small kiss between Han’s collarbones, gripping his hip a bit tighter when he twitches away from the unexpected touch. Han is still immediately, Minho humming happily against his skin and proceeding to leave feather light kisses along Han’s chest. He can feel the tendons in Han’s wrist flexing as if he’s making fists, unsure of what to do with his hands. Minho pulls away from the kisses to look at Han, whose eyes are finally as wide as Minho had wanted.  


“Are you okay with that?” Minho asks quietly, Han nodding a bit too fast in response. Minho tries to hide his smirk but fails, Han’s hand immediately raking into his hair and tugging his head back roughly. Minho hisses at the pleasant but entirely shocking action, Han moving his face closer to Minho’s. Minho is sure he’s never seen this look in his eye before.  


“I’m still on top of you. Don’t get greedy.” Han says, his tone one that Minho has never heard before. It makes his heart flutter, nodding dumbly and whispering an okay. Han smiles at him, letting his hair go and easily sliding forward on his lap. Minho tucks his head back into position, trailing kisses along Han’s neck and keeping a steady pressure on his much closer hips. Han hums happily at the touches, craning his head to the side and letting his fingertips draw aimless shapes on Minho’s back. Minho is so hopelessly lost in Han, the way he smells and how his weight feels on his lap. He’s lost in how nice it feels to be doing this, mindlessly leaving hungrier kisses as he goes. Han breathes out small airy moans as he does so, the noise only driving him more. Minho stops himself, breathless from the desire to do more. He makes Han look at him again, the two of them locking eyes and breathing in sync. They lean into each other at the same time, finally letting their lips push together and move in a rhythm that seems too perfect to not be rehearsed. It’s almost sloppy, the way Han pushes his chest against Minho’s and places his hands on the headboard behind him, caging his head. The feeling of Han’s lips against his is almost a sin in itself, Minho swears, because nothing in the world should be allowed to feel this good. It’s even better when he feels Han licking into his mouth, his hands squeezing Han roughly enough to make the boy moan against his mouth. Instead of pushing Han away when he rolls his hips at the roughness, Minho moves his hands along with him, practically moving the boy himself in order to feel the friction he’s desperate for. Each of them gasp at feeling the other so riled up, feeling both so wrong and so right all at once. Minho lets one of his hands roam down, squeezing Han’s thigh enough to flip them in the process. They pull away from the kiss, staring at each other as they pant. Han is entirely flushed, letting out the smallest whimper when Minho slides his hands to grip his ass and pull Han farther beneath him. Minho savors the feeling, rubbing and squeezing as he so pleases just to watch Han squirm under him. Minho smirks at the position and how easily Han had given in, leaning down to continue kissing the expanse of Han’s heavily lifting chest. With Minho kneeling between Han’s legs, he easily slides his own legs further apart, Han’s legs on top of him following the motion. He plants his hands on either side of Han’s head, his hips rolling into the space in front of him. He worries he’s done something wrong, Han gripping his shoulders tightly and pushing him away enough to make him stop everything out of concern.  


“Believe me, I want to,” Han rushes, Minho’s face already softening at his nervous tone. Minho sits the two of them up, still sitting between Han’s legs but no longer trying to get a rise out of him. “I’m sorry.” Han says, hiding his body with his arms and looking to the side. Minho smiles at him softly, grabbing Han’s shirt and redressing him. Han sniffles, Minho pulling the boy into his lap again and hugging himself against Han’s chest. It makes Han smile, rubbing their noses together in a much safer way. Minho pushes forward a bit, testing to see what exactly made Han so uncomfortable. Clearly it hadn’t been the kiss, Han immediately filling the space between them and happily letting Minho move them in a slower rhythm than before. Minho supposes that’s probably it, everything having moved so suddenly. In fairness it had caught him off guard as well, and Han probably had the same feeling of good and bad that Minho had felt, only to Han the bad part had stuck around in his head. They pull away smiling at each other, each of them getting shy and moving to be comfortable again. Han ends up with his body curled against Minho’s, his head on the still bare chest and Minho looking down at him affectionately without him knowing. They don’t need to talk about it, Minho’s heartbeat giving away how both of them feel at the moment. 

Morning comes and the boys are still attached at the hip. Han has shamelessly used Minho as a pillow all night, Minho’s arms wrapped around him to the best of his ability in the position. Han had woken up a while ago, staring at Minho’s peaceful face while he continued to rest. Something in his heart had jolted painfully at the memory of last night, how sweetly Minho had moved them out of the situation and how bad Han felt about it all. He feels guilty for being the one to both start and end it all, feeling even worse about feeling like their first kiss should have happened differently. He regrets the prior almost kisses remaining as almosts, feeling like they somehow would have meant more in those small moments of wanting nothing else only to be shoved away. It’s not as if he hadn’t enjoyed the kiss, Han had loved it. It felt right, but he also feels like it had been too rushed. Sure, it was a long time coming; Han just worries that Minho may think it had been purely out of lust rather than anything else. Well, in a lot of ways, it was. It happened because Han got hazy from the want coursing through him. He had wanted so much all at once, having wanted a lot of things for nearly as long as he’s known Minho and never acting on it. He feels guilty about wishing their first kiss had been softer, filled with sweet meanings rather than as a stepping stone to skip over on the way to fucking. It had gotten stuck in Han’s mind last night, making him stop everything and partially making him wish he could go back in time and change things. He hates that it was him who led so roughly, that it was him who had responded so heavily to the small kisses on his body that normally could have otherwise been sweet or even jokingly pushed away. So, Han had woken up and stared at Minho with his mind running in loops about it all. Tears prick at his eyes, now that the boy is stirring awake slowly. He slowly removes himself from Minho, wiping the few tears that fall and sits on the side of the bed. He holds his head in his hands, hearing Minho shift around looking for the warmth he felt leave him. Han runs his hands through his hair, still feeling as if he’s messed everything up in the span of one night.  


“Hey,” Minho says softly, his voice a bit gruff from the sleep still lingering. Han hates how worried he sounds, hates how gentle Minho can be and hates how it makes his heart flutter at his caring tone.  


“Minho,” Han says firmly, Minho blinking through the shock of Han not calling him hyung. Minho sits up, knowing that something serious is about to happen. Minho’s heart sinks, unsure if he can handle rejection this early in the morning. “I want to talk about it.” Han states, turning to look over his shoulder at the messy haired, glossy eyed beauty behind him. He hates how their first kiss could have been in a moment like this, instead.  


Minho nods, crawling over to sit beside Han on the edge of the bed and wrapping the blanket around their shoulders. Minho sits far enough away for him to properly look at Han, Han hating how easily he blushes as he feels the eyes on him, he wishes he could go back to when he didn’t blush around him at all.  


“You talk, I’ll listen. Tell me when you want me to respond.” Minho says carefully, clearly feeling as if he’s the one in trouble. It makes Han smile sadly, patting his knee twice in a sort of silent explanation that he isn’t mad at him; he’s mad at himself. After Minho returns the same sad smile, Han starts talking.  


“I want to tell you that you handled it perfectly, first of all.” Han says, knocking his clothed shoulder against Minho’s bare one gently as a thank you. “I’m sorry I stopped you, I just…” Han trails off, never having been so afraid of telling someone the truth before. Not even when his parents split and he had to tell them he didn’t want to stay with either of them had him this anxious, knowing that the feelings inside of him are far from anything he’s ever really felt and so strong that he has no choice but to explain them to the other. “Listen, hyung,” Han tries to rephrase, Minho visibly relaxing a bit at the familiarity in the formality. “I’m not mad about what happened, I’m upset about how it happened.” Han feels a bit silly saying this out loud, expecting to see confusion on Minho’s face when he looks at him. Instead, he sees his eyebrows upturned and his lips pressed together, his head nodding gently. It makes Han feel a bit easier knowing that he at least partially feels the same. Han sighs.  


“You wanted it to be…” Minho says after a pause in Han talking, not wanting to interrupt but wanting to show that he at least understands. “More gentle?” Minho asks, his tone suggesting he knows the feeling but not the word to use as an example. Han mulls it over for a moment, nodding and mumbling something along the lines of more or less, yeah. Minho nods, looking at Han with the same soft expression he had given Han last night. Han notices it, blushing furiously and pulling his eyes away to look nowhere else in particular, the two of them sitting in a heavy silence while they each wait for the other to talk again. Han finally breaks it.  


“Don’t get me wrong, I liked it.” Han says, face still red and eyes still turned away. “I just don’t want you to think that it was only a ‘heat of the moment’ thing. I’ve wanted to do it, as I’m sure you know, I just got so lost in every and-” Han rambles nervously, tears threatening to spill over again at the outward expression of his guilt. Minho cuts him off by softly shushing him, noticing as the tears begin to run down the full cheeks of the boy beside him.  


“I know what you mean,” Minho comforts, not wanting to watch Han force himself to finish the painful explanation. “You liked it, but you wanted it to happen differently. You feel bad because you started it even though you had an idea in your head of how you wanted it to go.” Minho says, Han nodding along with every word and being thankful that Minho knew how to word it all. Minho knocks their shoulders together again, Han’s mouth twitching up a bit now that he knows Minho actually knows what’s running through his head. Minho leaves the faintest kiss on Han’s damp cheek, Han almost not even feeling it until Minho did it again to his temple. Han smiles more genuinely at that, glad to not be hated and to have formed a sort of wordless pact to consider the next kiss as the first. It won’t be forced or happen under intense circumstances next time, a weight lifting off of Han’s chest. Minho lifts himself from the bed, clearing his throat quietly before pulling a shirt over himself.  


“Good morning,” Minho says with a smile, Han grinning at the way he pretends like nothing had ever happened. “Breakfast?” Minho asks, tousseling Han’s already messy hair and smiling when he hears Han chuckle while he wipes his tear stains away; starting the day fresh. Han just nods, standing and stretching. Minho quickly pokes his barely exposed stomach, Han exclaiming and bending his stomach away from the tickling sensation. Han reaches to poke Minho’s stomach, Minho stepping back with a smirk on his face while Han’s hand falls just short of touching him. They both take off into the hallway, laughing and evading the pokes of the other as a way to work up an appetite. They’re back to their normal selves, the tension gone and the promise of a redo faintly settled in their minds; neither of them forcing interactions or talking about what happened for the rest of the day. 

Minho is resting against the couch in the attic, Han sitting beside him while happily watching the random compilation of funny videos they decided to watch. Not much has changed if anything at all in the past week, Han still coming over whenever he can and the two of them returning immediately into their normal interactions. They’ve been in the comfort of the attic for maybe an hour now, the two of them having gone to the same restaurant where their caricatures are drawn on the wall before returning to chill here. They had gone there because Minho had asked, Han agreeing easily but Minho not sure if Han knew the reason he had wanted to go. Honestly, it was partly just to look at the drawing that no one had erased (thankfully), but also because they had gone there the first day they had met. That day was exactly a month ago. Minho is surprisingly sentimental about it, shocking even himself when he began to tear up at the chalkboard. Han had asked him about it, Minho had brushed it off as allergies.  


Sitting here now, though, with the sun setting and filling the attic with a honey tinted glow, Minho feels the tears brim again. Something about the soft breeze entering through the windows and the way Han looks so happy beside him has him with his heart in his throat. He attempts to clear it, Han looking at him expectantly.  


“You know,” Minho says as if it’s no big deal. Han pauses the video. Minho gives him an appreciative smile. “We met a month ago today.” He says, loving the way Han looks at him with a smile and a look that screams are you stupid?  


“Of course I know that, hyung. That’s why I wanted to come over today.” Han says, punching his shoulder lightly as pay back for assuming he wouldn’t remember. Minho grins dumbly at him, shying his face away as a blush appears. He fiddles aimlessly with the blanket over their laps, adjusting his weight in the cross-legged position and turning slightly toward facing Han. Han smiles at him too, doing the same. “Penny for your thoughts?” Han asks teasingly, the sight of Minho smiling to himself and shyly glancing up at him making him want to make the smile stay. Minho continues smiling, his expression changing from a grin to a much smaller, much more timid smile but a smile nonetheless. Han waits, Minho glancing up at him while he seemingly finds the courage to say what’s on his mind.  


“I’m just thinking about statistics…” Minho says with a light chuckle, knowing Han will question him and wanting to take the extra time for his mind to wrap around what’s about to happen. Han does question him, teasing him about acting older than he is if he’s smiling about stocks or statistics. Minho laughs again. Han asks him about what specific statistic has him sheepish. “Well,” Minho starts, looking into Han’s eyes which are upturned by his smile. “Statistically, it only takes a month to fall in love.” Minho lets his voice fade as he speaks, suddenly regretting the words as they leave his mouth. Han’s face tells him that he understands the implication behind the statement, his smile faltering a bit and his eyebrows knitting together rather than Han immediately teasing him because of course he knows that. Minho stops smiling entirely, his face red and his eyes looking back to the blanket. He supposes he could have waited, having only found himself so truly hopeless around the boy recently. He had known he was interested since day one, the pretty boy too much of everything he looks for to not be. He had finally embraced his racing heart in the past week, learning to love it and how it made him feel rather than letting it scare him. Doubts about it all return to him in this silence, remembering that once the house is finished he will leave again. He wants to ask Han to go with him, beg if he has to. He knew during the weeks he had missed Han so terribly that there could be no other explanation; he had been falling in love with the boy who is staring blankly at him now. “I’m sorry, forget it.” Minho says, Han blinking and grabbing his wrist as he reaches to unpause the video. Minho looks up at him with an almost angry expression, looking so conflicted that Han tightens his grip on his wrist. Minho sighs, sitting up straight again and waiting for whatever rejection he’s about to be faced with.  


“Aren’t you moving on when the house is finished?” Han asks, as if his response will depend on his answer. As much as he wants to lie, knowing that if he says he will stay then Han may accept him, he can’t. Not to Han. Not about this. He nods, looking away in shame. Han nods too, tightening his lips into a straight line. “Then I think…” Han says, a shaky breath escaping him as he says the words Minho knew he would hear. “I think we should just stay how we are, hyung.” Han says gently, the words still stinging as they cut into him. He loves how they are now, they both do, but he can’t deny how badly he wants to keep Han forever. It seems extreme to him, the feeling of wanting someone so badly and knowing you may move on and lose touch. Logically, he agrees with Han, wanting to confess just to get it off of his chest and make his feelings known before he leaves. Part of him knows it isn’t fair to do, to make Han take the confession he may not have been ready for and be forced to make a choice. Minho nods, understanding his choice despite wanting to get on his knees and beg the boy to come with him. He knows Han couldn’t, though, not unless Honey came with them. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind that, but Han may. So, he looks into Han’s eyes again, giving him a clearly forced smile with teary eyes. When Han goes to speak again, he successfully unpauses the video, Han getting the hint to not talk about it anymore. So they don’t, Minho leaning sadly against the only person who can comfort him right now - the same one who is hurting him. Han leaves after a few more hours of silent comfort, heading home only after Minho’s smiles were no longer forced and the air didn’t feel as suffocating. Minho may or may not have cried once he returned home from dropping Han and his bike off, not willing to let him ride home in the dark. Maybe he screamed into his pillow, screaming about the conflict he feels and how stupid it was to confess. Maybe he considers punching a hole in the newly painted drywall, opting not to more for his wallet’s sake than his own. Maybe he considers distancing himself before Han does, the very thought of being able to see Han and choosing not to making his heart ache so badly he becomes afraid it may genuinely tear in half. He wants to have all of the time with Han he can, knowing that once he leaves he may not see Han much if at all. He doesn’t want to become a face on Han’s wall that he has to look at as a substitute for him being there. He doesn’t want to hurt him like that. Maybe he thinks it’s better this way.

For the past three weeks, whether as an excuse or not, Han has been too busy with home life and work to visit Minho. Minho has used the time to continue making progress on the house, using the focus to drive thoughts of Han out of his mind. He works himself to exhaustion every day, hating the nights where he is alone and left to his regrets. He hates that he can’t be sure if Han is lying or not, often missing messages and calls. Minho isn’t doing it to be obsessive, but out of his desperate need for the normal interactions he wishes he hadn’t put at stake. He considers going to the store, just popping in to see Han while he buys something and leaves after just in case he really doesn’t want to see him, but he levels himself down to not wanting to see that harsh reality played out just because of his selfishness. More than once Minho has considered changing his background on his phone, being swayed only by the ability to click his phone once and see Han before falling back asleep. It’s pathetic, he thinks, how nothing feels right without Han being around him. Maybe it’s the homey looking house that feels so empty, or the way his passenger seat is always kept from its purpose. Maybe he’s overreacting, considering he had expected Han to pull away from him. He knew he was jumping the gun, but the itching in his skin for him to tell Han was becoming unbearable. The fiery regret of doing it is far worse, the empty feeling in his chest entirely counterproductive. So, he calls Han in the hope of seeing him over the weekend. The line rings three times, Minho already nervous that he may be met with the answering machine again just as he hears the sweet, sweet voice of Han.  


“Han Jisung,” Minho breathes, everything in his body settling into its rightful place and washing away his discomfort. He’s overcome with sudden exhaustion, relaxed so intensely by hearing the voice in his speaker. He really is too whipped for this boy; he can’t imagine himself wanting to move away from him. “I miss you. Free this weekend?” Minho breathes out, holding his breath while he waits for an answer. He holds it to avoid it getting knocked out of him should Han say no, a soft hum filling his ear and making him lose it anyway. “I can pick you up, just text me the time?” He asks hopefully.  


“Okay, hyung.” Han says, making Minho nearly cry at the realization of how much he’s missed hearing Han calling him that. He smiles against the phone, feeling ridiculous about how emotional he’s being. He used to be so stoic, what happened to him? Oh, right, Han happened. “How are you?” Han asks, Minho nearly choking on air. He coughs twice, clearing his throat. “Are you sick?” Minho fawns over Han’s concern for him, considering if he should fake a cold for Han to come help him. No, he’s not that desperate.  
“I’m excited to see you now,” Minho admits, smiling like an idiot when he hears Han’s laugh through the phone. “I mean it, it’s been so dull without you.” Minho says, immediately hoping it won’t be considered too much by the younger. Han hums, another faint chuckle flowing through the phone.  
“I miss you too, hyungie.” Han sighs, Minho hears rustling in the background. “Are you free now?” Minho’s heart jumps, his mouth repeating yes, yes, yes like a mantra before his brain processes it. He’s really got to find more friends.  


Han tells him to come pick him up, Minho already loading himself into the truck and letting the engine come alive for the first time in weeks. Minho hangs up after agreeing, shamelessly breaking every speed limit on the way to Han’s house. He feels far more alive than he should while doing it, but it’s Han. It’s the sweetest, most attractive, best boy he knows. It’s the boy he’s fallen for, and for Minho to fall in love? It’s no small feat; and it’s not even been long. Minho wants to roll his windows down and scream to the world I love you, Han Jisung! He wants to go and buy a fucking ring, sling it on a necklace, and give it to Han as some sort of promise to stay in his life for as long as he’ll let him. He’s practically vibrating in his seat when he sees Han beginning to walk down the driveway - he did get here early, after all. He can’t contain himself, parking and leaving the engine on and the door open as he runs out to Han, Han’s laugh filling the air around them as Minho lifts Han into a hug. If he thought hearing his voice was going to make him cry, he doesn’t know how he feels right now. Han seems so happy to see him, making Minho nearly twice as happy if that’s even possible. If he didn’t have to drive, he would refuse to let go of Han. But he does, setting him down and just staring at him with a wide smile. Han blushes, nodding to the truck and trying to hold in his own smile. 

Bringing Han into the house brings Minho an unbelievable amount of peace, the upgrades seeming to truly be worth the work by the look on Han’s face. It has been nearly a month since Han has been here, so Minho lets him look around while following behind him; happy to just be within a four foot radius. God, he swears he could cry just looking at him. His hair is slightly longer, his hair has been dyed back to it’s natural black, and Minho may faint at the tan he’s developed.  


Minho follows Han into the attic, a place he has avoided since the incident that last happened up here. Han sits on the couch, Minho following and immediately pulling Han against him. Han lets out a small giggle, Minho tightening his arms around him and burying his face into his neck. He’s missed how Han smells, missed the soft skin under his fingertips. He’s missed Han.  


Han turns in his arms, the two of them simply staring and letting the silence speak their apologies for them. Minho can’t help the tears that well up because of how desperately he wants to kiss Han, how tight his chest feels against his thumping heart. Han’s eyes move down to Minho’s lips and then again to his eyes. Minho can’t pretend not to notice, doing the same to Han and leaning his head a bit closer. He swallows when he sees Han pull away from the closeness, a sense of urgency rushing over Minho. Now or never.  


“Han Jisung,” Minho whispers, Han blushing at his strained tone. “Please, fuck,” Minho mutters, looking into Han’s eyes again. “Kiss me.” Minho whispers again, a tear threatening to roll down his cheek. Han stares at his lips, nodding mindlessly and closing his eyes as his body leans forward. Minho swears he can feel the fireworks people talk about in movies, their mouths moving slowly while Han’s hands find the sides of Minho’s face. Minho can only hope this is everything Han wanted, because it certainly is for him. The way Han is holding his face, the way his own hands are loosely clasped behind Han’s neck and running through the hair there; everything is perfect. Their rhythm - so slow and nearly sensual, the atmosphere of the slowly heating room. Minho wants to whine when Han pulls away, but he assumes that he doesn’t want this one to end up like the last. So, they smile. They laugh quietly at the other’s cute flushed face, and they kiss again. The second one is much shorter, only just more than a peck, but Minho is still exploding from it nonetheless. Minho brushes their noses together three times, Han smiling as he does so.  


“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Han whispers, Minho giving an apologetic smile. He does too. “I could kiss you forever.” Han says, Minho blushing furiously and whining when he hears Han chuckle about it.  


“I would let you.” Minho says truthfully, kissing Han’s forehead. Han grins, turning to lean against Minho’s chest. 

That is what happened the last time Minho saw Han. 

Minho had been concerned after the first week of Han ghosting him, no texts or calls answered. He thought maybe the kiss had scared him off again, making him feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. Then, as he was walking into the house after leaving Han’s store only to be told ‘he quit,’ he saw the first note. A purple sticky note on his front door, Minho took it down and read it with furrowed brows. ‘I’m sorry, hyung.’ Minho’s mouth had gone dry, rushing through the door only to find another note on the wall in front of him. ‘I had to leave. I tried to come see you.’ Minho had begun crying then, entirely confused and his heart sinking. He had missed the most important person in his life on his way out of it. He goes into another room to find more pieces of Han. He chuckled sadly at one that told him he ‘should really lock his door.’ The small smile left him quickly, scanning over notes such as ‘I don’t know when I can come back,’ ‘I won’t be able to get in contact,’ and ‘if you leave before I’m home, I’m so sorry.’ As if that wasn’t enough, he had trailed the line of notes up into the attic, and on the couch sat the words that had broken him that day. Sitting on the couch, in the handwriting of the person he adores more than anyone else in the world, is a confession. ‘I never got to tell you, but I was falling in love.’ He flipped through the notes stuck beneath it. All together it had read ‘If we never get to talk again, thank you for being in my life. I think I’m going to love you for a long time. Find yourself, then come find me. You’ll always be my favorite what if.’ Minho had ended up sobbing in the attic until he physically went numb, staring at the star lights above him. His chest felt heavy, but the tears stopped.  


He had screamed, his throat hurting so badly he couldn’t swallow without wincing. 

23 days after that, the first letter came in the mail. He didn’t know what it was at first, no return address written. Although it had taken him longer than he’d like to admit, his mind placed the handwriting in the letter alongside the purple notes he had buried in a chest in his closet. Until the first letter, Minho had done all he could to figure out anything he could. He tried his work again, and went to Honey’s house. It had been entirely unsettling to learn that Han and Honey were both gone, he had begun to get antsy about the situation then. He also worried about Sydney, hoping that wherever they had gone, they had brought her along. Minho had opened the letter so fast he thought he had ripped it, relieved to see every word fully intact before taking a deep breath and reading the words the love of his life felt the need to get out. 

“Hyung,  
I don’t know if you are still at this address. I hope you are, because I have a lot to explain. I’m so sorry. I don’t know when I can contact you any other way than this, and I can’t be receiving mail here. Please understand. A lot has happened, and I’m very far away. I miss you every day, Minho. I swear I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’ve thought a lot about it - I’m in love with you. I know this is a shitty way to hear that, but I hope you’ll forgive me. I wasn’t ready to admit how much you meant to me before, but I can’t avoid it now. It’s all I think about. I don’t know how often I can write to you, but assuming you get this please expect more letters. I love you.  
Han Jisung”

Minho had cried, clutching the letter to his chest and trying his best to see if it smelled like Han at all. When it didn’t, Minho had cried harder. He needed so badly to hold someone - to hold Han. He tried for a long time at night to clutch a pillow to him and pretend, always ending up crying into it when it didn’t work. He had tried to force himself out of bed and be productive, unable to bring himself to do anything toward selling the house. He had decided after reading Han’s letter that he would wait for him to come back if he had to. He began to only work on the house as the owner, no longer intending to sell it. He would go and collect Han’s mail once a week, always wishing he had a key to just go and lay in Han’s room. He considered breaking in just to surround himself with the familiar smell of Han, considered taking whatever clothes he could - assuming Han had left any - or maybe searching for his cologne to spray on his pillow. He hadn’t, but every time he checked the mail he would think about it. He would think about as he ran his hands over the rainbow colored mailbox, giving it a sad smile as if it may be missing them, too.  


He made good on his promise to himself, buying a telescope for the attic. On nights when he was particularly missing Han, most nights, he would find himself looking out at the sky and hoping to find the pieces of Han that he himself hadn’t found yet. He would look up at the stars, hoping with every fiber of his being that wherever Han was, he was able to look out at the stars at the same time. Something about that possibility made Minho happy to do it, even if the attic often made him feel suffocated by the way he had kept the fort they had built together this whole time. Every time he would leave the house, he would spare a moment to look at the hanging swing and remember seeing the photo in Han’s room. He often had to look away from it, feeling his heart shatter with every second he deliberately thought about the boy.  


Minho also found solace quickly in beginning a garden, planting roses to line the small walkway up to the porch steps. Along the edges of the porch, he planted more. The routine of having something to keep alive became meditative to him, even if he always thought about Han when watering them. 

On day 46, as the seasons began to change, the second letter came. 

“Hyung,  
I’m sorry it took so long to write. Sydney is doing well, Honey brings you up from time to time. She isn’t doing the best, but I did tell her about you. About us, really. I told her about loving you. She told me that she could tell, and I’m glad that it had been so clear that we loved another even if we hadn’t known that yet. She told me that when she met you, she had already known that we would find out in due time. I suppose that time was a bit too late, huh? I feel so stupid for continuing to write to this address, I know how fast you can work. You’re probably already gone, but I can only hope these get transferred to you somehow. I know I can’t tell if you get them, but I don’t know what I would do if I came to find out you never did. I still think about you a lot, I don’t think I can ever stop. I miss you so much, I wish I could call and hear your voice. I hope I never forget what you sound like, I wish I could hear you call me by my full name again. Something about that always did something to me, I figured you’d like to know that. I’m doing okay, just been sad about leaving you. I don’t feel bad about quitting my job, I don’t even mind leaving town. I wish I could have you here, though. I wish I could wake up and you’d be here, telling me I had been talking in my sleep or that I must’ve had a weird dream. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better goodbye, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I hope you don’t hate me for it, I promise I can explain once I’m home. Well, at this point I think home is just wherever you are. Here sure doesn’t feel like home. There are no forts, no attic to sit in. I’d rather be with you. Please never forget that I love you, okay? I’m sorry this is all we ever amounted to be. You deserve better.  
I love you, Lee Minho.  
Han Jisung“

Minho began drinking that day. He never was much for alcohol until that day, where he needed to feel the burn from anything other than his chest and throat. That next morning, he watered his dying roses with a hangover and a lot of regret, having only dreamt of Han being in his arms after his binge and waking up to a lonely bed never made him cry as hard as he had, then. It had felt so real.  


After that, his drinking was far more moderated, only ever using it on the really bad days to cope with the way nothing in the house felt the same since Han left. He began making the house more of his own, hanging photos of loved ones and even printing out a photo of Han to put beside his bed. As pathetic as it made him feel, being able to roll over in bed and look at Han made waking up without him just a bit less painful. He had thanked his past self for taking so many candid photos of Han while he had the chance, even if looking through them made him want to cry and smile at the same time. He began to wonder when the ache would fade, he wondered if he actually wanted it to. Part of him felt that if he stopped aching, it would mean that he wasn’t missing him anymore. Even on the bad days, rather than willing the pain away completely, he would let himself look through the photos and read the ‘I love you’s over and over. If Han still loved him, he would be okay waiting for him. He would have to be. 

On day 76, Minho could finally bring himself to go to the diner for old time’s sake. He walked in, looking to the chalkboard only to find the whole wall had been wiped clean and only a few spots had been written on again. Logically, it made sense to him that it would be gone. Even though he had expected it, not seeing it felt as if Han’s existence in the town had been wiped away with it. The last time he had gone to the diner it had still been there - he wondered how long it had been gone. He had tried his best to not cry in his booth, looking at the empty seat across from him. He tried to push away the memory of Han sitting across from him and smiling at him. He tried to ignore the voice in his head repeating the words ‘loosen up, man.’ He tried to forget that the last time he had been there had been the day he confessed his love for Han, staring with tears in his eyes at the untouched strawberry milkshake across from his chocolate one. He let the tears fall, sniffling away his hope that Han would walk in as if he had never left, sit across from him and ask him if he was okay. Minho had gone home that night and checked the mail, trying not to let it bother him that he still hadn’t gotten a letter. He just sat in the yard, illuminated by his porch light while he sipped the strawberry milkshake from his to-go cup. He may or may not have strained his hearing just in case he may hear a bike approaching the house. He had gone inside after finishing his shake and hearing nothing but the wind in the trees. 

On day 81, the third letter finally came. Minho may or may not have screamed in excitement. 

“Hyung,  


Things got worse after the last letter. I know it’s no excuse to write so far apart, especially since you’re definitely gone from the house now if you weren’t before. Honey has gotten worse. She told me today that in her old age, she’s never seen a more meant-to-be couple than you and I. I really want to believe her, but I really wish more than anything else that you would still want that. I really hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I know that’s selfish, you have every right to shove me out of your mind for your own wellbeing. Even if it’s entirely in vain at this point, I’ll say this anyway. Please. Don't forget about me and the things we did. Don’t forget about the way we made each other smile and laugh. I wish I could hear your laugh again. I hate to admit that I’ve forgotten the sound of it, along with your voice. Have you forgotten too? Honey says that the voice in your memory doesn’t need to be there as long as it’s in your heart, and you're still taking up a large space in my heart. Honey told me also that I shouldn’t blame myself for everything, considering the circumstances. I know you don’t know them, so it’s okay if you blame me for whatever you may be feeling about this whole thing. I’ve been in contact with my parents recently, there are a lot of mixed feelings there. It’s been so long, you know? It’s weird being in the same room as them - even more so seeing them stand together without yelling. I wonder a lot about how the house turned out, I may have to harass the new owners when I come home asking if I can see it. They’ll think I’m some creep when I’m staring lovingly at a home that you and I literally made together. If I don’t ever get to see you again, I wanted to thank you for restoring it and letting me help. I think it helped me deal with a lot of internal stuff, you know? I don’t know. I’m still writing because I don’t want to stop. I feel terrible for taking so long. I promise I still think about you, that’s not why I haven’t been sending anything. Honey told me I should write every day and send them at the end of the week in one mega-envelope, give you a play by play of how things are going. As much as I’d love to, I finish most days too exhausted to do much more than sleep. I dream of you, still. I dream of coming home a lot, or I dream of the days before I left. It’s really hard to wake up from that. In the sweetest way possible, I kind of hope you feel the same. Not the painful part, but the part where you still think of me and care. It’s been a long time, hyung, I’ll forgive you if you don’t want to miss me anymore. I miss my old room. I miss moments with you in it. I just miss you a lot. It hasn’t gotten much easier for me. I hope you’re doing okay wherever you are. I hope you got to go home and see Soongie, Doongie and Dori. Sydney says hi, well, she can’t talk, but she rubbed against this paper so I’m counting it as a hello. Anyway, I have to get going. I wish I could call you. I feel stupid asking things you can’t even answer. I just wanted to remind you that it’s still you. It’s you in my head when I can’t sleep, when I’m happy, when I look at the sky. I guess it has been for a long time, but I was too much of an idiot to admit that. Present me is formally apologizing for past me. I’m sorry.  


I still love you.  


Han Jisung”

Along with the letter, there had been a polaroid in the envelope. Minho stared at it for a long time, his lip trembling at the sight of Han looking into the camera with a soft smile, Sydney pressed to his face looking rather unimpressed by the photo op. Minho immediately stuck it in the corner of the picture frame beside his bed, making sure the date on the bottom of the photo could still be read as he laid down and smiled like an idiot at the small photo. As much as it hurts to hear Han doubting himself and the struggles he had been telling him about, Minho found a lot of relief in the way he always made sure to remind him that his feelings hadn’t changed. So, Minho had forgiven the delayed letter. He forgave Han, the boy clearly still trying to reach out the best he could. It still hurt like hell to be without him, the days where no letters would come being so painful to work through. Especially when more and more days passed and Minho was constantly reminded that if anything happened to Han, he wouldn’t know. He hated thinking about it, but he knew that it was a relatively valid fear. He would have no idea and would go on assuming hopelessly that the letters got lost in the mail or something. The photo had quelled some worry in him that Han was in fact still a real person despite Minho feeling like he would be sad over someone his mind wants to forget. The new photo had also made him happy because Han had taken it for him. In that moment, looking at that photo, all of the anger had gone away. All of the sadness was replaced by his sudden obsession with the closest thing to seeing Han in person after all this time. Minho forgot every day he spent between letters, forgetting the drinks he kept beside his bed should he fail to fall asleep quickly. All that mattered was Han’s face, that it hadn’t changed and that as of right then, he still was in love with him. It was enough to let Minho sleep that night. 

Minho had stopped keeping track of days a while after that, finishing the house and continuing to make it comfortable. The seasons changed, fall bringing him into a few bars and led to him actually making a few friends. He didn’t originally think he would bond with them as intensely as he had, considering where that had gotten him with Han. Even though their initial interactions were mostly the two boys talking to Minho in the bar and Minho staying quiet, they continued to press until Minho accepted their phone numbers. Minho had looked at both of them, the taller one reminding him of Han in a lot of ways. The taller boy was so vibrant, so cheerful and warm toward him despite his quiet demeanor that Minho had almost wanted to pull away from the interaction. He wanted to remove himself from any relationships altogether, the shorter boy telling him that he’s always free to contact either of them. Soon, Minho did, on a particularly lonely night. Although he stopped counting the days, it had been around day 113 that Minho had gone over to their house - finding out that they were roommates - and finally let himself get close enough to remember the names Hyunjin and Changbin without having to listen for them to come up in conversation. Soon after that night, after he accidentally let his emotions get the best of him as they drank on their livingroom floor, Minho had told him about Han. He told them about everything that happened, everything that didn’t; everything other than Han’s name. He told them about how desperately alone he feels while thanking them for not laughing at him when he had cried over too much boxed wine and one too many shots. He let them look at him with pity, neither of them knowing how to console him other than to just hug him tightly and let him relive the moments he missed the most.  


The three of them got closer after that, Changbin turning into Binnie and Hyunjin staying as Hyunjin. Minho wanted to call him Hyunnie to match Binnie’s nickname, but it reminded him far too much of Honey. His friends began inviting him over more, the three of them often spending nights together and the two others finding ways to make Minho smile. Mostly, it had been Hyunjin who succeeded, seeming to know his exact humor and running with it whenever Minho seemed in his head. Binnie had told him about a job opening where he works, Minho looking into it and finding himself at an interview shortly after. As winter rolled around, he finally let himself invite the others into the house in the hopes of it coming alive with more than just one person in it. Minho thought that Hyunjin could do it, if no one else, as if he could trick the house into thinking the person he wanted most had finally arrived and that it would feel okay again. He was partially right, the boys bringing a lot of happiness into the house. They had complemented everything, praised Minho for his work and purposefully avoided the sensitive topic of the attic. Minho had wanted to push himself, bringing them up for the sake of video games. Neither boy commented on the fort that still hung over the couch, nor the telescope he had told them he looked through in the hope of finding Han. The three of them had sprawled over the still made bed, Minho feeling uneasy even around the easiest people to be comfortable around. The others tried to cheer him up, offering to just bring the system downstairs and play in his room. Minho told them it was fine, it just felt weird bringing others into what used to be a safe place for him and the long gone boy. They gave him a sympathetic look before shoving a controller in his hand, practically forcing him into enjoying his time in the attic and push through the guilt he held about it. 

Minho started working alongside Binnie in a cafe, mostly just to bide his time and still find time to spend with the boy. He had grown fond of Binnie, how he was a few inches shorter than him and how close in age they were. He knew the other to be a bit standoffish but to mean well, always checking in with him and sitting with him during their breaks while they ate whatever pastry they would take from the display. He felt as if he were getting to know himself, the more he got to know Changbin. They had similar interests and lives, not to mention their apparent shared love of cats. Minho supposed they both related a lot to cats, that being their reason for loving them. Cats being alone unless they want to be, giving their love to a few select people and having the ability to be sweet on only their terms. Minho had thought that if he and Binnie were cats, Hyunjin was a fox. It had nothing to do with how devilishly handsome he was, but entirely to do with his hyperactive personality. His need to always be involved, always be doing or watching something. How sweet they are despite their ferocity - Minho thinks that if Hyunjin is a fox, he is the mouse under the snow. Hyunjin had dug a hole to find him, quickly dragging him out of it and eating him alive. Something about Hyunjin always sending him little reminders of things to enjoy in life made him exasperated; maybe it was the way he seemed to have an answer for everything and the sly ability to manipulate Minho into thinking better thoughts. Minho was being consumed by both of them, and he honestly didn’t mind one bit. He didn’t mind being the weaker version of himself around them, knowing that even if they have their fun they will always be there to help with the mess left of him afterward. Maybe Minho had considered moving in with them, thirty minutes away from his house and letting himself move on. It had been so long since the last letter, Minho had felt like he was waiting for something that wouldn’t come. Between the boys and work, he had gotten too caught up to check Han’s mail or check if he had come home. He knew that the latter would be obvious, or at least he had hoped it would be - that Han would have reached out to tell him. So, instead, he kept inviting the boys over to his house. Eventually, the photos of Han beside his bed ended up in the chest tucked in his closet, Minho finally finding himself able to sleep without them. He had a lot of mixed feelings about it, feeling guilty and shameful for not needing to look at Han to feel okay anymore. He couldn’t remember when he had changed his phone screen to the three of them, but he still felt the sting of no longer having an instant moment of happiness before the sadness washed over him when he looked at his phone. He convinced himself that the sadness wasn’t worth the split second where everything was okay, eventually the three of them finding themselves in Minho’s attic to take the fort down on day 184. The boys had been so supportive, wrapping him in a messy hug as he cried about it, telling him that after so long without a letter that it may be better to let himself forget. They told him that he didn’t have to forget the person, but that letting himself wallow in his sadness about it wasn’t healthy. He could still love Han, love the memory of him without letting it consume him. He had nodded then, both boys squeezing him tightly to their chests before bringing him back downstairs to distract him. 

Minho doesn’t remember when, but he began spending a lot of nights at the apartment. He would go home with Binnie, something about coming home and seeing Hyunjin happily waiting for them became addicting. He would always tease Minho for looking so tired, would always break out into a small dance while they all stood in the kitchen as Minho cooked. They would rotate who cooked, but the boys convinced Minho that his food was always best. Although Hyunjin is taller, Minho would still feel his heart race whenever Hyunjin would steal food as it was cooking or wrap his arms around his waist begging for a spoonful of whatever Minho made, claiming to be the quality control. Sometimes Changbin would do it, and Hyunjin would yell at him for ‘stealing his bit.’ It was easy to get lost in his time at their place, sometimes staying over for days at a time, Hyunjin arguably even more excited to see him returning with Changbin as the days became consecutive.  
Whenever they felt the routine became too boring, the boys would stay with Minho, one sleeping in the attic and one in the spare bedroom. Hyunjin was always in the attic, claiming his defense as wanting to use the telescope again. It made Minho smile fondly every time, a tiny part of him feeling as if Hyunjin shouldn’t be the one using it, but happy to not be the only one so in love with the stars anymore. He considered offering the boys to move in to help him with the bills, bringing it up and getting a bit too emotional while doing so. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them how much easier it was to be in his own house with them there, so he brushed the offer off as a passing joke. Hyunjin seemed to catch his glossy eyes though, softly telling him that his studio is too far away to travel every day and soothing Minho with the promises of coming over more. Minho had smiled then, a real, vibrant smile that had both boys cooing at him. He was feeling better.

Somewhere around day 216, Minho had heard Hyunjin talking about his days in school. About one friend that he misses most, a friend that used to light up a room and make everyone feel important. He talked about how his friend started working at a small convenience store shortly after finishing school, how they had lost touch when Hyunjin went on to start attending a dance studio and their schedules stopped syncing up. He talked about the boy’s love of polaroid photos and how he had always known where to park his bike because of the boy’s painted mailbox. Minho had never felt so uneasy at someone’s words, nearly fainting when Changbin had asked the friend’s name. He had to hold onto the counter as he heard Hyunjin begin to say Han, Minho cutting him off and croaking out a broken sounding Han Jisung. It had all been put into place then, Minho remembering seeing Hyunjin on Han’s wall the one time Minho had been there, the boy looking younger but more or less the same. It seemed to be pieced together in the other’s minds as well, their eyes going wide and rushing forward just as Minho’s knees gave out under him. After so long of being okay, Minho had sobbed freely into his hands on the kitchen floor. Minho was shaking as he sobbed, Hyunjin sitting behind him and hugging him as close as Minho’s sobs would let him. Of course Hyunjin reminded him of Han, Minho had thought. They had grown up together, spent summers at the lake and Hyunjin was on Han’s fucking wall of sentimentality. Of course they are similar. Of course his mind had placed the two boys so closely in his mind. Changbin had offered him a drink, a strong one, and Minho had downed it with the tears still flowing. They had all been drinking lightly until that point, all of them needing something more after the shock of finding out something like that. Minho drank until he couldn’t make his own anymore, Binnie refusing to help him or give him another, plopping Minho down on his couch and telling Hyunjin not to let him have anymore before going to Minho’s spare room to try and sleep the alcohol away. Minho had been left with a very giggly Hyunjin, openly staring at his prettily flushed face and nearly empty glass. Hyunjin had refused to give Minho the last bit of it, Minho crawling over to him and frowning as Hyunjin emptied his glass. Minho had looked at the wet lips, the plump, plush looking wet lips that had been coated in alcohol and decided in his foggy mind that there was only one way to chase the remnants. So, he had kissed Hyunjin. He had sloppily licked against his lips, Hyunjin bursting into a fit of laughter as Minho tried his best not to remember the boy who had grown up with the friend in front of him. He had enjoyed the burn of the drink against his lips, licking over them and pressing their lips together again simply because he had wanted to. Hyunjin had kissed back then, pulling away with a giggle and then telling Minho to go to bed. Minho had hazily nodded, stumbling into his room while Hyunjin had opted for the couch, not trying to hurt himself on the stairs. Maybe Minho had had another drunken dream about Han. Maybe he had dreamt of kissing him again, of him coming home and of the four of them living together. Maybe he had woken up to an empty bed, no photo to roll over to and no photo of Han to glance at on his phone. Maybe he cried, his hangover headache only worsening. Maybe he cried until he heard the others waking up, maybe he cried until the two of them came to check on him. Maybe he cried even after that, with his two best friends laying in his bed with him to try and take the ache away. 

On day 232, Minho was coming home after spending a week with the boys. On day 232, Minho had taken a deep breath and finally checked his mailbox. His heart had sunk, seeing not one but three letters with no return address. Every thought he had walking to the mailbox was instantly replaced. The thought of Hyunjin driving him home and how badly Minho had wanted to see what the boy’s lips felt like sober. The remaining happiness from the week, the small return of butterflies in his stomach and his faint smile while he had walked up had all been replaced with fear. The fear of realizing how guilty he suddenly felt, the fear of realizing that he hadn’t even thought to look for letters in a while, assuming no more were coming. He held in tears as he entered the house, sitting on the couch while opening all three to read them in order of the dates on the paper. The tears began to fall as the first letter told Minho about Han’s parents being weird still and how badly Han wants to come back. It told him that Han was feeling depressed, that Honey wasn’t seeming to get better. That Honey had told Han to find Minho and never let him go, that love like his doesn’t just go away. Minho had sobbed into his sleeve as he read about Han doubting he would ever get the letters, that he felt as if it was a lost cause to send them but that he may just in case. He felt his heart tearing as he slid another polaroid from the envelope, a photo of Han clearly trying to smile and failing, the letter signing off with please don’t forget about me rather than I love you.  


Minho had anxiously picked up the second, openly sobbing into the empty house at the opening line. Hyung, since the last letter, Honey has passed away. He shook violently as he read about how Han had stayed with her, how she regretted never getting more time to talk to Minho and that she had extended her blessing of their love. He read about how his parents had overheard, belittling Han in front of his dying grandmother about liking men and practically disowning him. About how Honey had mumbled the words ‘accept him’ just before she slipped away from them, and how Han has never felt more alone than now. Minho wracked his brain to find a single reason why he shouldn’t hate himself, unable to find any when he realizes he had done the one thing Han had asked. He hadn’t read the letters, he had forgotten in some ways and had separated himself. He was fucking interested in someone else, for god’s sake. Minho struggled to breathe as he continued, Han telling him that depending on how things go the next letter may be the last. Han told him that if he wanted to forget, it was okay. That loving him while all of this is going on is arguably foolish, and that he shouldn’t subject himself to that. He clutched the letter to his chest after seeing only Han’s signature on the bottom of the paper. He collected himself enough to lift the third letter with a shaking hand. 

“Hyung,  


I think this is going to be my last letter. The funeral service was nice enough, I’m sorry you couldn’t come. I assumed you would want to, but I don’t have any way to reach out other than this right now. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? None of it is fair. Honey wouldn’t stand for this if she had a choice anymore, she really liked you. I still miss you, but the ache has been overshadowed by the loss. I’m sure you understand. I don’t know if I can ever go back to that house. I don’t know how long it will take for me to be okay. Part of me wants to think that seeing you again may help, but I honestly feel so little of anything now that I can’t really be sure, if I’m honest. I feel stupid sending these, I know you’re gone. I know you’ve left, moved on, and that you hate me. You don’t know why I left, you probably assume you scared me off. I wanted to tell you that that is not what happened, and I feel so terrible knowing that you really do have every right to hate me. My own parents hate me, too. I guess I’m a bit glad that I don’t really feel much. I hope wherever you are, you remember the good times. I hope you hear songs or see something and think of me even if only for a moment. I hope you enjoy where you are now, I hope you wouldn’t mind if I called you somewhere down the line and see how you’re doing. My parents plan to sell Honey’s house. I’m really angry about it, I won’t have anywhere to go and even if my old house is on the market, I can’t come anywhere near affording it. I try so hard to remember your face, but it’s all so fuzzy. I like to send photos to you so that you won’t have to forget mine if you don’t want to by now. Sydney is mine now, which I’m glad for. I want to go home, but I don’t. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone here, I feel so fucking alone, hyung. I hope you’ve found friends, that they make you happy and that maybe I could meet them some day. I’m so exhausted. I wish I could see you again, even if just for a minute, you know? Just to see you happy and stuff. I don’t know, I guess I’m rambling because I don’t even know if you’ll get this. I always tell you not to forget me, but I think that I kind of forgot about you for a while. With everything going on, it took over anything else I was feeling. I remember how lovely you are, how you always made me smile and how things felt right with you. I think it scared me a lot, because of how my parents ended up. I knew you were going to leave, and that only scared me more. I don’t regret you, I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone like you again. That thought is kind of scary, too. I’m so sorry, hyung. I don’t know how to put down what I’m feeling. You should find someone who can be there for you. You should forget and be happy and it’s okay if I’m an afterthought in that. You can remember me as that almost, I won’t be mad. Who knows, maybe we’ll see each other in a few years and pass by without recognizing each other. Maybe we won’t mean anything to each other anymore. I mean, assuming you feel anything about me now. If you do, you deserve better. I say that, but I know I’ll look for you in everyone I meet. I think I just don’t want this letter to end, as if it’s a face to face goodbye. Sadly, I don’t have that luxury.  
Well, I think this is it, then. I’m sorry, you deserve so much more than a letter. I’ve sent another photo just in case you want to remember. I guess I’ll find you someday, if I’m meant to. If that’s the case, just know that I’m looking forward to it, okay? You can let me go. I’ll be alright. Don’t forget that I loved you. I’ll see you in the next life if not in this one, yeah? Thank you for loving me while you did. I’m sorry for everything.  


I hope you get these,  


Han Jisung.”

Minho had passed out from the tears, the last letter being dated just less than a week ago. 

Today is day 378, and Han hasn’t sent any more letters. After receiving the last letter, Minho tried his best to not be affected by it. Minho has been avoiding work, unable to fake a smile to the customers. He has met up with Changbin and Hyunjin, unable to truly enjoy himself or feel much at all, really. He’s been cooped up in the attic despite the heat, laying and staring at the still hanging stars on the ceiling. He thought he could follow Han’s words, but now that he has the okay to forget, he doesn’t want to. He’d rather sit in his pain remembering everything that could have been and pretending that Han was still around to love him. They’ve tried to help him, but being around them can only do so much, now. He tried looking through photos, tried anything he could think of to make Han seem closer to him. He had replanted the roses, watering them the best he could with so little energy. He had fixed the swing attached to the tree, everything. Sleep became the only way to feel better, usually dreaming of Han or not at all.  


When he hears the familiar sound of angry wings, Minho doesn’t immediately react. He’s used to hearing such things in the attic. His mind wanders to his first interaction with Han, that stupid joke about wasp killer. When he feels something on his arm, he mindlessly shoos it away, only to feel something else on him right after. He’s used to being calm, knowing that freaking out will do more harm than good. He looks down, his eyes going wide at the angry looking wasp. He holds his breath, looking around for the epipen he had put up here once the weather warmed up again. Then, he feels it. On the arm he isn’t looking at, he feels the one thing he has tried to avoid. Minho scrambles up, looking for that godforsaken epipen. On day 378, Minho is stung. As he searches, he feels the way his body slows down. He feels the way his throat itches, the way his heart is pounding in his chest. He quickly calls for an ambulance before his throat begins to close, hanging up even when they ask him to stay on the line. He trips over himself, the room spinning as he grabs the bright orange stick, bringing it to his eyes and making his vision focus enough to read the expiration date. It’s expired. Minho curses at himself as he lies on the ground, his breathing becoming labored. He knows he can only blame himself, getting so caught up in his emotions that he hadn’t thought to buy new ones. He begins to cry, his skin beginning to break out around the sting. His whole body itches, he feels like he may throw up. In fact, he does, leaning his head and emptying his stomach directly beside him on the floor. He reaches for his phone, trying to control his breathing as he feels his throat continuing to swell, tapping into the only contact he has on speed dial. He puts it on speaker, trying to sit himself up and failing. It rings and rings, the number usually going right to voicemail. It gives Minho an ounce of hope. When the call fails, he calls again, trying his best not to pass out. He begs his phone to make the other pick up; if he’s going to die he just needs one thing before he does. Minho stares at the ceiling, trying not to get sick again by how everything around him is spinning. His breathing is shallow now, his whole body itchy yet too weak to let him scratch. He can feel how swollen his face is, weakly pressing the call button one more time when no one answers. He can feel his body wanting to pass out so badly, Minho violently blinking to keep himself awake. Please pick up. Minho’s mind repeats it like a prayer. Right now, he considers it to be. 

“Hello?” Minho smiles weakly, everything terrible happening to his body seeming to go away at the one word. He cries, moving his head closer to the phone.  


“Han Jisung.” Minho struggles, wheezing quietly into the phone. This is what he needed, for so long he’s wanted nothing more than to hear Han again.  


“Hyung,” Han says, sounding excited and concerned all at once. He has always been so expressive with his voice. Minho closes his eyes.  


“Stung.” Minho says, a weak, choked off chuckle escaping him. He hears Han talking to him, the words becoming muffled. This is it. The ambulance isn’t here yet, but Han is. Han is here, talking to him as he struggles to breathe. To Minho, that’s all he can ask for. It’s all he wanted, even as his breathing slowly comes to a stop. Even as his vision blacks out, hearing Han’s muffled voice on the other end of the line brings him peace. The tears on his face make him itch more, but he can't bring his arm to do it. He hears faintly Han asking him where he is, if he called for help. Minho just lets out a small grunt, tucking his head against the phone as if it would hold him as he dies. Minho listens to Han, the sweet, sweet sound of his voice fading as he begins to panic. He hasn’t been breathing for awhile, and he still hears no sirens. This really is it, he thinks. At least Han is here. Han is here. Even if he’s delusional and imagining it, it brings him comfort. So, he lets himself slip. His mind replays images of Han, smiling at him. Kissing him. It plays Changbin and Hyunjin, how much they did for Minho when Minho couldn’t bring himself to be happy. It plays his parents, the last time he saw them and the cats he loves so much. He sees all of them, all smiling at him and telling him that it’s going to be okay. He focuses on Han, Han’s voice sounding like it’s coming through a speaker. 

On day 378, Minho was stung. His epipen was expired and Han had answered the phone. Han had answered the phone. Han answered the phone. Minho fell unconscious with the hope of what that may mean, that he’s home or may be soon. Minho slipped away hoping. Hoping that Han still loved him, hoping that he’ll be able to see him again. Hoping he would come and explain everything he couldn’t before. He slipped away waiting; for the sirens to come, for anyone to burst into the attic and keep him awake. More than anything, he waited for Han. He waited for his letters, waited to hear his voice again. He slipped away happy, the kind of happy he’s only ever felt with Han. He was happy to think Han may be close, may come and see him. Even if not for Minho, Han has to come home. He has to. 

And he does. 

End of book One.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter! @BangBiddies


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